


Shadowland

by Okiedokieangel, theadamwasforgotten



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Brothers, DeanCas - Freeform, Destiel - Freeform, Dystopia, Family, Happy Ending, M/M, Multi, apocalypse au, mostly - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-12
Updated: 2017-02-07
Packaged: 2018-08-30 14:43:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 29,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8537116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Okiedokieangel/pseuds/Okiedokieangel, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theadamwasforgotten/pseuds/theadamwasforgotten
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, Castiel Novak has been on his own for eight long years. He keeps a neat, orderly journal, records everything he does and everywhere he goes, but what lies beneath his cold mask is far from orderly. Dean Winchester was safe, one of the last survivors, when the Outpost he lived at burnt down. Now he’s alone in the huge, dangerous new world for the first time, not knowing where to go and what to do. Sam Campbell is immune to the infection - almost. As it slowly eats away at him and his life hangs in the balance between human and beast, he is taken under the wing of an older boy, who shows him for the first time that there is hope here.





	1. Prologue - Dreamer

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you like it! The prologue is quite short, but bear with it.

**0o0o0**

**Prologue – Dreamer.**

_Day 2920._

_Month 96._

_Year 8._

_Hello again, inanimate object. Since I last entered anything into this log, I have continued to move towards the north. In the month that has passed, I have started to move into mountain domain – from what I can remember, these are called the ‘Rockies’. I understand the reasoning for the name, though I do find it slightly mundane._

_Besides this, though, I have encountered nothing of interest. Two abandoned towns – even less then last time – one in which I found a few supplies. Food is growing scarcer, and I hope for my own sake that it’s only the approach of winter that takes away the necessities. Animals are becoming more and more feral, foaming at the mouth and attacking with abandon – and I can barely fight them off anymore. One flimsy knife won’t hold for much longer, though it has been faithful to me for so long._

_I did, though, come across a recently written letter among the supplies in the town. It had no address, nor any way of identifying who sent it – but it told me that what I fear may have indeed happened. The final outpost against the impending doom of humanity may have indeed fallen – Outpost Four was attacked, apparently a few months ago. Though I have sometimes seen the Outpost’s large rescue helicopters circling for survivors, I tend to avoid them. Call it instinct. If the outpost truly has fallen, then I’m heading in the right direction. Floods of the last survivors will stream into the danger zone. It will be a bloodbath._

_I have nearly filled the whole page, so I will leave now. The next entry will come in a month, given that I am still alive to write it._

_Day 2920,_

_Castiel Robert Novak._

**0o0o0**


	2. Chapter 1 - Hello Stranger, My Name is Dean Winchester

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Dean meets the kid who will soon become like a little brother to him, we learn more about Castiel - and what forced him to leave his old home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to chapter one was amazing! thank you!!

Dean found that it wasn’t like it was in the movies – the days didn’t all melt together into an endless blur, blended and crushed. In fact, he found that he was pretty sure how many days had passed (a little), and had a rough idea of the date (kind of). Then again, there was no really way to count anything anymore, so if he got the date wrong, Dean doubted that anybody would notice.

That, added to the fact that there was nobody alive to tell Dean that he was wrong.

Dean had seen the fall of Outpost 4 – had been there. It had been the last hope, the last group of survivors on the planet, banded together to keep the darkness out. And they had fallen. Dean would have been surprised if even an ant had made it out alive. He watched his home, his hope, burn. He watched it explode, like fireworks. The image was still printed on the insides of his eyelids. But that was nothing to mope about now, anyway. If his father could see him now, he’d tear Dean a new one for sitting around feeling sorry for himself.

He had gotten into a routine, now. Trees were the best places to sleep – but check them for termites or bees before you settle down. (Dean learnt that the hard way). Start moving before dawn – most of the things that would like to eat your entrails won’t be interested in a snack at that time. When you walk, stick to the road, and walk in the middle. Don’t worry – your chances of being in a car accident are pretty much zero.

That said, it would be suicide to let your guard down on the road… or any where. Dean’s senses were hyper active; seeing every wave that passed through the grass, feeling every stone that moved under his feet, smelling the ash and dust that floated through the air, tasting the sweat that snaked down his face and ran onto his cracked lips, hearing…

One of Dean’s hands flew to his gun, the other darting to the bag on his back. The infected would take your life, either by killing you outright or by using you to spread the disease that plagued and threatened humanity itself. The uninfected would steal supplies in half a second, put a gun to your head and pull the trigger if it meant they could survive for a little longer. He knew that they were just trying to survive, but he would die without his supplies, too. The only thing he would give a stranger to eat was a bullet.

The sound, a wailing, strangled cry echoed loudly from behind a burnt-out car. Dean approached cautiously, his gun pointed to the source of the noise as he crept round to try and catch a glimpse of the thing. The creature, the- the young man…?

Dean stopped, confused, and observed the huddled ball in front of him. His observations only perplexed him further. This man - practically a boy - looked like he was past the point of saving from the infection. His hair and eyes were bleached, his skin patchy and rough and dry. Yet simultaneously, he looked like he had only contracted the disease within the past couple of weeks. The man had scabs and sores that indicated months of the violent scratching that came as part of the disease’s gift package, yet his eyes and hair (which should be as pale as milk if the disease had taken complete hold), were only slightly faded. The strange man’s pale eyes suddenly flicked towards Dean as he registered Dean’s presence.

“Please,” he croaked. Dean’s heart broke for the kid, really, but there was nothing he could do to help but put him out of his misery. The strange kid, amazingly, managed to surprise Dean again with what he said next. “I don’t want to hurt you. Or infect you. Please. Go.”

 _Well_ , mused Dean, _that’s new_.

**0o0o0**

As dusk rolled in, the small bundle of blankets by the tiny fire stirred, and a small head of patchy brown hair emerged from the warm cave of tattered rags. “Wakey wakey, eggs and bakey! Well, acorn paste and stale bread… close enough.”

The pale-eyed boy sat up in confusion. “Either way, it’s warm food,” chimed Dean, wiggling his eyebrows from the other side of the small room and gesturing at the neat portion of food lying out for the kid. “Hey,” he added, “What’s your name anyway?” After the boy didn’t answer for a few seconds, Dean shot him a deadpan look. “I carried your beanpole body all the way to an abandoned shed, the least you can do is tell me your name.”

“Sam,” croaked the bundle eventually, “do you have any water?”

Dean smiled and reached into his pack and lifted out the canteen as Sam sat up, the blankets falling from his shoulders revealing more scabs and scars. Dean reached forward and passed him the canteen, “Here you go Sammy!”

Sam took the flask, the last lingering limbs of sleep unfurling themselves from his mind. He looked from the flask to Dean and cocked an eyebrow. “Why are you helping me? Why aren’t you running as far from me as you can get as you can as fast as you can?” he ventured inquisitively.

Dean straightened up and folded his hands in his lap. “It’s simple - I’m immune. And you’re half-gone. Which means you’re still not completely one of them yet.”

Sam took the canteen from Dean and took a cautious sip, his eyes lingering on Dean, full of uncertainty and curiosity. It was refreshing, Dean liked this kid. Reminded him a lot of himself, back when he’d first gotten to the Outpost. Plus, it would be nice to have some human company for a while. That is, until either Dean or the disease put an end to the boy. But hey, a half-gone is better than nothing. Dean knew that it was foolish to rush in with strangers, but he was going half mad on his own, and this was just a child. He looked barely over sixteen. He could floor him if needs be.

They ate and drank in silence then Sam sat staring at Dean, his eyes squinted as if he were trying to read Dean like a book, but couldn’t quite make out the words.

Dean couldn’t take it anymore. “OK, kid, what the Hell?” he snapped, “You’ve been staring at me like a creeper all night!”

“What do you want from me?” replied Sam slowly and forcefully. Dean waved his hands in the air in frustration.

“An answer, dumbass! Why are you staring at me?” he hissed. He was reluctant to yell, even if it seemed like they were alone.

“I told you, I’m staring at you to try and figure out what you want from me. I don’t have supplies, I’m not immune - not fully at least - I don’t ha-” listed Sam breathlessly before Dean interrupted him.

“Whoa, kid, chill. I just want to help you out. The only selfish motive here is companionship,” explained Dean.

Sam turned stark white. “Look, just let me go and I’ll-!”

“Jesus Christ! Hell no! Traveling buddy, you moron! It’s safer to travel in groups!” The and ‘less lonely’ was silent, but not unheard. Sam slowly sat back down, lowering his eyes to the floor.

“You would be in danger from me though, every second of every day. You must know how sporadic and uncontrollable the fits are. You would-” Sam spoke quickly, concern and self loathing colouring his voice until Dean interrupted him.

“I carry a gun, kid, and I know how to use it,” reassured Dean.

Sam’s face softened, “Thank you.” he whispered.

Dean cleared his throat. “Right, OK, let’s not make this soppy. Go to sleep,” he said in a gruff voice, before rolling over and letting the warmth of sleep and the dying fire seep into his bones.

**0o0o0**

_Castiel set the needle down on the record and sat down on his cold, hard but precious camping bed to read through his old journals. His house - more of a shed - was bare, holding only some canned food, some flasks of water, his bed, his record player, a handful of records and his notebooks._

_But it was home. It’d been four years since all of this had started, four years hiding in this tiny shed as the world fell apart around him. This place, no matter how shabby and no matter how plain, was Castiel’s everything - the epicentre of his universe, around which spun the final, dusted stars of his hope._

__**‘There is a house in New Orleans,  
They call the Rising Sun,   
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,   
And God, I know I’m one,’ **warbled the record player.

_Flicking through his journals, Castiel sighed. The familiar sound of the track washed over him. It wasn’t like Cas was likely to forget everything that happened to him, but it helped him keep track in order to keep moving forward. He had to always keep fighting, no matter what. Plus, it wasn’t like the end of the world came with a plethora of free reading material for the lonely survivors._

__**'My mother was a tailor,  
She sewed my new blue jeans,   
My father was a gamblin’ man,  
Down in New Orleans.’**

_It wasn’t just the events after the break out of the disease, it was before as well. When he had a family, friends, a real home and hope. The first few pages of the first journal were a map of the life he once lived, a trail of breadcrumbs through everything he used to know. Castiel’s whole life was inked onto these pages, his will carved into the spines, and his wishes dotted into tiny stars on the tips of 'i’s._

__**'Now the only thing a gambler needs,  
Is a suitcase and trunk,   
And the only time he’s satisfied,  
Is when he’s all a drunk.’**

_He had known for a while now that having a fixed point where he stored supplies and slept was dangerous. The common philosophy of the new world was, “Is it still illegal if there are no police and no government?” It was on this night that these 'philosophers’ came; drunk, violent and hungry._

__**'Oh mother, tell your children,  
Not to do what I have done,   
Spend your lives in sin and misery,   
In the House of the Rising Sun.’**

_It all happened so fast - they poured in, ripping the fragile door the door that Castiel treated with so much care from it’s rusted hinges. Two of them grabbed his supplies, laughing rowdily, while the other two threw him to the ground, breaking bones and records alike._

__**'Well, I got one foot on the platform,  
The other foot on the train,   
I’m goin’ back to New Orleans,   
To wear that ball and chain.“**

_Castiel scrambled to his feet, blood pouring from his nose, and bolted into the cover of a nearby forest. He didn’t stop running, didn’t look back, until he heard the echoing roar of a fire and saw his home go up in flames. Only a single journal remained, clutched in Castiel’s hand so tightly it bent. Everything else was gone._

__**'Well, there is a house in New Orleans,  
They call the Rising Sun,   
And it’s been the ruin of many a poor boy,   
And God, I know I’m one.”**

_The skyline was a mixture of reds, oranges and greys as smoke and flame tainted the inky night sky. Stunned, injured, helpless and alone, the ghost of a song slipping from his mind, Cas watched from the edge of the forest as the fire died out and the sky turned orange once more as the sun broke over the horizon. Castiel stood silently, blood, dirt and despair clinging to him in equal amounts as he began to wander aimlessly away from the only safety and happiness he had known for the past four years._

—-

Castiel shot up in bed, forehead thick with cold, clammy sweat as a surge of adrenaline sent his mind into overdrive. Closing his eyes tightly, Cas gritted his teeth, waiting for the last dregs of panic and fear to slip away before he opened them again.

Even after four long years, that nightmare never faded, never lost the sheer dread and hysteria and loss that followed it. Castiel didn’t scream in his sleep (not anymore, anyway) - in fact, he barely made a sound nowadays. There were consequences for drawing attention in this world, consequences that had been hammered and rammed into his instincts until Cas abided by them.

Standing gingerly, Castiel looked around. Since that day, since the day that they burnt his home and everything he owned, Cas hadn’t settled down. His journal was clutched in one hand as he wandered away from the rotting lodgehouse in which he’d slept that night, feeling the cold wind of early winter wrap around his body. He didn’t flinch as more land disappeared behind him.

Cas’ whole philosophy had changed - he had nothing left to leave behind, so instead he moved on.


	3. Chapter 2 - Alfie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A past part of Dean's life is brought to light, and a new character is revealed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey look!! I actually updated fast!!! Whoohoo!!! Fair warning, in this chapter a certain character is brought to light who may or may not induce a few feels… >:)
> 
> (note on the virus - the small percentage who are immune cannot catch it through infected air, while most humans can catch it through infected air. The only way immune people can contract the disease is through exchange of bodily fluids; eg. Being bled on.)

Dean woke to the thick scent of autumn leaves in his nose, a thin blanket over his body and a thin slat of sunlight in his face. He rolled over, a small yawn climbing through his throat, and shot a glance to the corner of the room, and the bundle of rags that lay there.

Or rather, the empty, discarded bundle of rags, and the lack of a Sammy.

Suddenly wide awake, Dean shot out of bed, haphazardly pulling on his battered jacket and almost sprinting out of the door. Panicking, Dean bellowed, “SAM!!”

This scene was all too familiar.

—

_His name was Samandriel, but Dean called him Alfie. He was the youngest person in the Outpost - hell, he was practically Dean’s younger brother by now - and Dean took care of him._

_It was an innocent mistake. Once a month, heavily supervised and impossibly careful and sticking to each other like glue, the inhabitants of Outpost 4 would leave. It was only for an hour - barely that - and they could only go a hundred metres out, but for Alfie and Dean, it was salvation from the uniform metal bunks and the disinfectant-scented air and claustrophobic walls. Dean was a surly seventeen-year old with the beginnings of stubble and long limbs, and he still wore his father’s old leather jacket. Alfie was a bouncy thirteen-year old with bright brown eyes and too much optimism._

_It was springtime, sunshine dripping through green, leafy canopies and onto the damp ground, and as soon as Alfie and Dean stepped out of the thick, metal doors of Outpost 4, they could feel the elation sink into their bones, the smell of pine thick and omnipresent._

_They walked with the group, making idle chit chat and teasing each other like brothers. Carefree and careless, they had wandered ahead of the group and out of sight before they’d even realized._

_It was the silence that alerted Dean that something was wrong - the roar of deafening silence that was broken all too quickly by a much worse sound. A blood curdling scream ripped through the forest from the direction of the main group. They were here - the infected - and the group was as good as dead. All Dean could do now was save Alfie. He turned round and yelled for Alfie to run, but the kid was paralyzed with fear, his wide eyes fixed on the direction of the scream, glinting with unshed tears. Dean grabbed his arm and dragged him, sprinting clumsily through the under growth, but Alfie went down, face slamming into the dirt as his ankle was snagged by the fingers of a rotten tree root._

_Dean tried to lift him up, but his limbs were heavy and numb and Alfie was frozen stiff, so scared he didn’t even try to stand up on his own. Blood trickled in a steady stream from a gash on his forehead and dripped onto the thick, gnarled root. Dean took out his gun and stood stock still over Alfie. He heard them before he saw the, the crashing in the under growth, the bestial snarls, the pounding of feet as the hoard approached from in front of him. Well, mostly in front of him._

_A single diseased individual, so far past gone that there eyes seemed to leak pale fluid from the tear ducts, tackled Dean from behind. That’s when the frenzy started. Dean managed to kill the thing and push it off himself, but the valuable seconds lost had serious consequences. They were all over Alfie, biting, scratching, beating. Alfie’s head flew back as he let out a pained cry. Dean acted quickly, killing as many of those filthy things as he could and scattering the rest. But it was too late._

_He knelt down beside Alfie and cradled him in his arms. He was covered in blood and not just his own._

_“It’s fine. It-it’ll be fine. You’re OK,” lied Dean, his throat thick with grief. Alfie rasped out a laugh, blood spilling from the corner of his mouth. “We both know I’m not fine Dean, they bled on me. I’m infected-” he chocked out, interrupted by a hysterical Dean._

_“No! You don’t know that!”_

_Alfie looked back at him, his usually warm eyes sad and fading. “Please,” he begged, “Don’t let me end up like my mother. Don’t let me kill anyone. Please, Dean, shoot me, now. Before it’s too late.” Dean paled, he shook his head and swallowed stiffly. He couldn’t do that. Not to him, not here, not now._

_A single tear finally escaped from Alfie’s eyes, as they slowly started  to pale. “Please.” he whispered._

_Dean slowly stood up, guilt and grief already settling deep in his soul, he pointed the barrel of his gun at Alfie’s head. A small, grateful smile wavered on the younger teen’s lips._

_“Goodbye, Alfie,” he choked out, before pulling the trigger. The awful sound made him flinch violently as it echoed through the forest. Within 5 minutes he had lost everything, and he wasn’t going to let that happen again. Never._

—

Dean was older now, stronger and faster and not the scared and shaking teen he once was - but now, crashing through the browning undergrowth with adrenaline thrashing across his veins, it felt no different to that day. Sam, Alfie - he couldn’t lose them both. He’d barely known Sam for a few hours, but he was going to protect the kid even if it meant death now. He couldn’t be the cause of two deaths. Dean wouldn’t let that happen.

“Sammy!!” His voice was a bellow through the silent forest, and the caws of birds filled his ears as they launched from the trees and into the sky, shocked by the noise. Dean silently cursed - not this, not again. He’d just made noise, and now they were bound to be coming, and Sam was out there, alone. A slide of cold dread covered his senses. Dean had to find Sam, now.

Feet pounding on the ground, pushing his body to the limit of it’s power, Dean raced through the forest faster than he’d moved in a long, long time. He could hear them now, the chattering and screaming and growling stabbing through the air from all around, and he yelled again before he knew what he was doing - “SAM!”

And finally, Sam replied.

“Dean!!” His voice was thin through the sounds of the infected, barely coherent, but Dean sprinted towards it like it was a beacon of light

And suddenly, Sam was there, appearing from behind a blackberry bush. Dean’s heart swelled with relief, and before he knew whet he was doing he had folded Sam into a crushing hug. Sam made a muffled noise that might have been a squeak of surprise, before hugging back awkwardly.

After a second Dean let go, his face red. “Oh, um… I thought that you were- I thought something had happened to you. Sorry.”

“Oh, well, I’m fine. Thanks. And I’ve got breakfast!” Sam grinned, holding up a large cloth filled with berries.

“Maybe you could explain that weird outburst over breakfast? You know once we’ve run about 100 miles in a different direction to make up for the minor problem of-” (Sam gestured vaguely to the approaching noises) “-them?

Dean laughed, smacked Sam on the back and started to run - but this time, the panic wasn’t there. There wasn’t a tree root in the way to pull Alfie to the ground, no blood and no fear. The two boys set of, quickly gathering their stuff and hightailing away from their camp. The dying embers of the fire slowly turned from orange to black as the two figures disappeared, shoulder to shoulder, into the distance.

**0o0o0**

**Castiel**.

Castiel threw himself out of the way as the wolf snarled and pounced again, white eyes feral and wide as blood run in rivets from her maw. Cas had managed to get in a good swing (hence the gash over her jaw) but now he was tiring, body aching and screaming with pain. I’m losing, he panicked, slamming his body to the side as the infected animal leapt at him again, I’m going to die here.

Twisting, Castiel launched himself away from the beast as another sound suddenly joined the snarling and the wind in his ears and his heavy, rasping breathing. A cacophony of screeches and screams was suddenly alive in the forest all around him, grotesque harmonies of shrieks and moans that froze Cas to the spot. They were here - a lot of them.

Rolling out of the way of the wolf’s razor-sharp claws, a plan quickly started to form in Castiel’s mind. When the first of the infected appeared, dragging a mangled leg that could barely be called a leg anymore, Castiel took his chance; pounding his foot into the wolf’s nose, he swung upwards onto the branch of a tree, and launched himself off that and into the shadows of the deep jungle. Everything was a blur around him, the world a mass of dark brown and green, and he ran and ran until the sounds of the infected died away behind him.

Collapsing against a tree far, far away from the fight, Castiel’s head lolled onto his chest. The too-large trench coat slipped down over his hands - even after all this time, he still hadn’t grown into it.

What the hell had brought all those infected to the same place all at once? Sure, Castiel and the wolf had been making a little bit of noise, but the infected weren’t often attracted to noise unless it was distinctly human - distinctly uninfected. Whoever had brought all of them here wad evidently human (an immune or half-gone, no doubt), which could only mean one thing.

Castiel wasn’t alone.

**0o0o0**

The figure moved on silent feet across the street, one hand wrapped around the handle of the gun in his belt. His dark, brown eyes were shaded against the autumn sunlight as he darted into the shadows. He had evidently done this over and over again, knew where the cracks in the road were and knew his way to the small door in the side of the building he was creeping alongside.

Sliding in, the figure didn’t emerge for multiple minutes, and when he did there was a heavy, black bag slung over his shoulder. The contents clanked metallically against each other slightly but, once again, he was near-silent as he slid back across the street and into the shadows once again.

The figure walked through the abandoned industrial estate for a few minutes, eyes darting and feet silent on the gravel-covered ground, until he reached a large block of offices. The main doors were barred, but he seemed to know his way around. Scrambling onto a well-hidden, rusty ladder, the man clambered onto the windowsill, slinging in his black bag before slipping through the window himself.

The man emerged from the window into a bare, slightly broken down room. The wallpaper, now faded, had once been daffodil-yellow, and the room as a whole was furnished with only a scratched, wooden table and a few books piled in the corner.

Bathazar raised his head, smirking. "Dad, I’m home!”


	4. Strangers and Old Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Meg Masters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *vaguely prays that this will not become a crazy obsession because I wrote four chapters in 24 hours and I don’t sleep enough* May I just tell you guys how awesome you are? Maybe? Yes? Good. TWO COMMENTS! And 100 hits! AO3 has not been kind to me in the past, so many, many thanks :)

**Chapter 3 - Strangers and Old Friends.**

**Castiel.**

For the next few days, Castiel was the epitome of cautious. He felt eyes constantly following him, heard the rustling of leaves and bushes when they really hadn’t moved at all, and was constantly looking over his shoulder, eyes searching blindly for somebody that wasn’t there. The days grew longer as winter drew in, and the freezing fingers of frost chased Castiel every day as he ventured further and further into the mountains. But, despite Castiel’s newfound paranoia, he did encounter one very old friend.

After all this time, Meg had barely changed. She still wore the same mangled, fingerless gloves, and she still had tangled and matted black hair that somehow ended up looking (to Cas) every manner of hot. But Cas doubted that he and Meg would ever really get back together. Maybe in another life, when the world wasn’t ending and she hadn’t tried to murder his big brother.

“Well hello there, my trenchcoated friend,” she said in a lazy tone, as if the whole world had failed to entertain her. “Fancy seeing you here.” The two stood across from each other on a long, lonely road, a few miles south of a crossroads

Castiel nearly growled. “You’re the one who’s been following me! You started that onslaught - you tried to kill me!”

Meg laughed, baring her hands. “No blood on my hands, Cassie. The person who started that thinks he’s far, far grander than little old me. He’s even picked up a kid half-gone. What a dipshit.” She laughed, but Castiel could feel a slight pang of hope in the top of his chest. There was somebody else surviving out here, somebody other than Meg?

Meg stopped laughing after a second, and Castiel nearly cursed as she gave him a long, assessing look. “You want to meet him, team up?”  
“I never said-”

“You’re the most obvious person I’ve ever met, Castiel.” Meg stared at him for a second more, then rolled her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t attend your wedding?”

Cas opened his mouth to reply, stuttered for a second, and then closed it again. Desperate to change the subject, he said, “Well then, why are you here? Even if you’re not tailing me, you’re tailing the other guy. Why?”  
Meg considered her answer for a second, shooting Cas a furtive look out of the corner of her eye. Eventually she sighed and said, “I happen to have known his father… Or at least, somebody I know did. And if you let this slip to anybody, Castiel Novak, I’ll skip rope with your entrails.”

Before Cas could answer, Meg cleared her throat and glanced at the broken watch on her wrist. “Time flies when you’re having fun, but now I’m afraid I must love and leave you, Cassie.”

“Where do you even have to be?” Castiel muttered, shooting his old friend a subtle glare.

“Somewhere over the rainbow.”

The look Cas gave her could’ve burnt through steel.

“No, Castiel, I can’t tell you.” Meg rolled her eyes in irritation, slamming her thumbs into her pockets and starting to walk away. “It’s a whole new world, old friend, and I’m just picking up scraps.”

(Later, Cas found a seashell and fifty seven cents in his pocket, and contemplated what Meg actually meant by ‘picking up scraps’)

**0o0o0**

**Sam.**

Yawning and burying his face in his hands, Sam slapped himself lightly on the side of the face. Dean shot him a look that was caught between laughter and vague concern, and slapped the younger lightly on the back.

“What, were you up all night out at the nightclub last night, Sammy?” he joked.

Sam groaned. “It’s just Sam, Dean - and no, I wasn’t. You just snore. Loudly.”

Dean gave a bark-like laugh. “Shut up, bitch.”

“Jerk,” Sam replied, not even thinking about it.

“Aw, come on Sammy, you love me.”

“Not even close.”

As Dean laughed, hitching his pack higher on his shoulder, Sam thought back over everything that had happened in the last few days. For one thing, he didn’t find Dean nearly as creepy as he had when he first met him - in fact, once you got to know him, Dean was okay. Sam knew from experience that you didn’t tend to find many okay people in the apocalypse, so, he thought, he might as well stay with him for a while at least.

He also learnt something interesting; Dean was a survivor of the fall of Outpost 4. He’d only been out in 'the real world’ (as he put it) for four months - but had managed to find some semblance of a routine. On the good nights, Sam and Dean would find the skeleton of an old car or a rundown old house or shed to sleep in - but good nights were few and far between. Mostly, the two would find trees to sleep in, or alcoves in the rocks, or even once the inside of an old van.

Dean was no Gabriel, but he was close enough.

—

_“You know,” Gabe said one night, out of the blue, “even though you’re the same age, you act nothing like my brother._

_The fifteen-year old Sam, lying on the grass a few feet across from the other, glanced over. "You have a brother?” he asked quizzically._

_“I’ve got two, but as far as I know, one of them is safe at Outpost 4.” The twenty-year old gave a soft smile, eyes glued on the stars blinking in the dark blue sky above. “The other met a girl - head over heels for her - but I guess I got in the way of their love story. She turned out to be… Not the most friendly of people, and I left, but I guess I…” He trailed off. “I wish we could meet up again someday, me and my brother. It was at the very beginning of this mess, you know, when everybody was still confused and frightened and people were only just starting to change. My brother wanted to find a shed somewhere and stick his head in the sand, but this girl wanted to take advantage of the New World Order, and when I agreed with my brother, she wasn’t too happy.”_

_The older gave a long sigh. “I’m sorry, kiddo, it’s just been a long time. I’d like to think that my brother let her go, y'know, found that shed and stuck his head in the sand and didn’t take it out. I just hope he’s alive.”  
There was a long silence, and then Gabe turned over. “'Night, kiddo.”_

_(Three days later, Sam woke up to find him gone, with only a note saying, **'I’m going to find my brother’.** )_

_—_

Funnily enough, the topic of Gabriel rolled around only a few days later. Sam and Dean had risked lighting a small fire, and Dean sat across from him, sharpening his single knife.

“So, this whole time, you’ve been on your own?” Dean asked. It was a cleverly hidden question, slipped beneath the pretence of a conversation starter, and Sam saw right through it. “About a year ago, I spent a while with a guy called Gabriel; yes, Gabriel, as in The Nativity Gabriel.”  
Sam tried to ignore Dean’s muffled laughter and went on. “We travelled together for a few months before he left, and I haven’t seen him since.”

“I thought 'Gabriel’ was supposed to be the name of an angel, not a dick,” Dean grumbled. “Why’d he leave?”

“He wanted to find his brother,” Sam answered. “That’s more important than looking after me- _Dean move_!!”

Dean barely dived out of the way before a figure had been thrown out of the darkness behind him and into the dirt, narrowly missing the fire as it hit the ground with a painful thump. Behind them, a quivering roar of noise rose up through the trees as whatever had thrown it hurled itself from the treeline - a six-foot tall, monstrous infected with stark-white hair and rough, patchy skin. Sam didn’t think about it, only turned to run away as fast as he could (he didn’t fancy a close-and-personal meetup with his distant biological cousins yet) but Dean scooped up the unconscious figure, slung him over his shoulder in a fireman’s lift and then followed Sammy into the night.

Behind them, more and more of the beasts scampered from the forest, screams tearing from their throats like macabre war cries as they raced after the pair. The deadweight on Dean’s shoulders was light, sure, but the muscles in his legs burned as he hauled him along. He couldn’t keep this up for much longer.

“Hey!!” he yelled, not even sure if the person was concious, “Can you run?!”

“I-” came a gravelly voice, “I think so!”

Dean practically threw him off, grabbing the other’s hand once he was on solid ground and hauling him along to run in stride with him. The stranger stumbled for the first few steps, but then fell into step with him, legs pounding on the ground as the sounds of the pursuing infected echoed through the trees.

“They’re- they’re not fast,” the stranger heaved, clutching what appeared to be an injured forearm as he ran. “They’ll give up soon. I’ve been fighting them for hours.”

“Then how the hell are you still alive?!” Dean growled, not in the mood for vague statements as the wind roared a vicious chorus in their ears.

“I’m strong.”

That shut Dean up for the rest of the adrenaline-fueled sprint, but when they finally got out of earshot of the things, he found that he was still clutching his hand.

Letting go and shoving Sam behind him, Dean whipped out his knife. Though the monsters raging wars on the world outside the door were dangerous, so were the people.

“Who the hell are you?” Dean’s voice was low and dangerous, his whole body tense, but the stranger simply met his eyes with a neutral, level stare that sent a thin chill down Dean’s spine.

“I’m Castiel, and I’d suggest that you put the knife down.”


	5. The Monster Under the Bed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel is a scary little bundle of joy.

**Dean.**

Dean didn’t flinch at the coldness in the man’s voice, keeping his gun trained on him despite the chill that ran up his spine like ice. The man - barely out of his teens - had a shock of messy, slightly shaggy black hair that looked like it could do with a trim, a muddy and frayed trench coat and startlingly blue eyes, sharp and clear as they met Dean’s stare coolly.

“Outpost 4, I presume?” His voice was surprisingly deep, edged with a rough lilt, as if he wasn’t used to speaking.

“Just me.” Dean kept his voice level and strong as he and Castiel locked eyes, a battle of wills. Sam tensed behind him and, for all of his strength and height, he seemed to shrink a little under the newcomer’s stare.

Suddenly, Castiel smiled. It was a small smile, sure, barely perceptible, but Dean immediately felt the atmosphere in the room lighten.

“Call me Cas,” he smiled, as the knife pointed at him slowly started to drop. “Your names are…?”

“Dean Winchester and Sam Campbell,” Sam filled in before Dean could answer, stepping forward and shaking Cas’s hand rigorously. “I’m Sam, and it’s-”

“May you please. Stop. Touching. Me,” Castiel said stiffly, and Sam pulled his hand away like he’d been burned. Wiping his hand on his already grimy overcoat, Cas said, “My apologies. Physical contact is not my strong point,” in a flat, bare tone. When he turned away, Dean glared at his back.

“Are you leaving now?” Dean asked harshly.

Sam gave him a pointed look. “No, Dean, you can’t just kick him-”

“Yes, I will be on my way,” Castiel cut in, once again acting like Sam didn’t exist. His blue eyes met Dean’s for a split second, but it was long enough. “I apologize for causing you any trouble.”

As he started to walk towards the door, however, Dean caught a glimpse at how awkwardly the man was holding his left arm; it was as if it had been roughly twisted to the point of damage, and now Cas was afraid to attempt to move it.

“Wait,” Dean forced out, “your arm.”

Castiel shot a glance down at it, as if only noticing for the first time that something was wrong. “This?” he asked, “this is nothing. I’m fine to go from here on out on my own.”

For some reason - a reason Dean had yet to identify - he had the sudden urge to ask Cas to stay the night. Sure, he’d been an asshole to Sammy, and he didn’t exactly seem like the warmest soul on the planet, but he was human, and he was hurt - for Dean, that was enough.

“We saved your life,” Dean chanced, “it’s the least you can do to stay the night, Cas.”

Castiel considered him for a long moment, then nodded slowly, looking significantly spooked. “Alright, if that’s what you want me to do… but I would suggest against sabotage, Dean.”

There it was again – that cold, experienced and dangerous tone that sent a cold thrill through Dean( **1** ).He tried to ignore it, smiled even, and glanced around the small cave. It was man-made, now that he looked closer, most likely the entrance to an old mine, and was big enough to stay the night.

“Alright Sam, can you find us some food?” Dean instructed, pointing to the entranceway. Sam nodded (scavenging was quickly becoming one of his better talents), and ducked out. Dean turned to Castiel.

“Let’s look at this arm.”

**0o0o0**

The arm didn’t take too long to patch up after all – a few inches of patchy, purple bruising and a small area of swelling was easily taken care of with some cold water, a rag and some food. Castiel, as if trying to prove a point, slept only a few feet from Dean; and he understood the message immediately. _I am not afraid. You don’t scare me, because I’m stronger, so try whatever you want._

After the newcomer’s breathing slowed and deepened into a rough slur of sleep, Dean exchanged a dark look with Sam, fingering the knife in his belt. Sam shook his head rapidly in the dark, pale eyes warning Dean not to do it and, eventually, Dean stood down. Cas hadn’t done anything to them – at least, not yet.

**0o0o0**

The next morning rose brown and cold, frosted leaves jewelling the ground and glimmering in the cold sunlight. Dean was alert before his eyes opened, wide awake before his senses had even caught up with his surroundings, and his body was painfully tense. Slowly, he peeled open one eye, vision opening onto the dim roof of the tunnel. He couldn’t hear Sam, or Cas – and when he looked around, Dean was alone.

Rushing out of the mineshaft entranceway, Dean stopped. Sam was lying face-up on the grass, eyes covered by his hand, and Cas could just be seen slipping up into the branches of a nearby tree, silent, face blank as ever. And Sam was… Counting?

Dean nearly laughed at the ridiculousness of the whole situation. This rugged, stoic warrior, who could apparently fight of a stream of the infected with one hand, was playing hide and seek?

 _Sure_ , Dean thought as he watched, _it’s not your average hide and seek_. Castiel was barely a shadow in the trees, sneaking with the grace of a predator, and Sam was in a defensive stance as if he were fighting the battle of his life – but still, when the younger caught sight of Cas, the game was suddenly thrown into the thrill of the chase. The two darted through the trees like arrows, like hunters chasing their last meal. When Sam finally caught up with Cas, it was only because the older misjudged a jump, crashing to the ground gracelessly.

Sam extended a hand to help the other up (which Castiel pointedly ignore), then caught sight of Dean – like a deer in the headlights, he froze.

“Uh, hi! We were just-“

“Training,” Cas put in.

“Training!” Sam said.

Dean raised an eyebrow. “Well I hate to admit it, but that looked pretty fun. Mind if I join?”

Sam’s face split into a blinding grin.

**0o0o0**

When the trio returned to the cave, panting heavily, Dean whooped loudly. “Now _that_ , brother,” he said, turning to Sam, “was fun.”

“Brother?” Sam stifled a laugh, running a hand through his damp, patchy-white hair.

“Oh well I’m sorry mister-no-strings-attached!”

“I don’t think you understand what the thing you just said really means.”

“Bitch!”

“Jerk!”

Castiel watched the casual banter like a tennis match, face setting into a frown. “Should I… Leave?” he asked, as if Sam and Dean were having the debate of the century.

Dean shot his new friend a strange look. “Why?”

“Well, you two seemed to be arguing and I don’t want to intru-“

The identical looks Cas got from both Sam and Dean silenced him. “Cas,” Sam said slowly, “when was the last time you talked to a human being?”

“A normal one? I can barely remember.” Castiel looked from Sam to Dean. “Why?”

“Nothing, Cas, you just seem a little awkward,” Dean said quickly, subtly kicking Sam in the leg. Cas stared for a second, before apparently being satisfied that Dean was telling the truth and turning away, taking off his trench coat and folding it neatly. Beneath, he wore a plain, white shirt, covered in years of deep-set grime. From one of the pockets of his black trousers, he pulled a small book, watching as Sam and Dean drunk a little of the water they had and started to pack their small amount of belongings.

Once everything was put away, Sam and Dean carrying a pack each and Castiel in only his overcoat, Castiel shot both of them a smile in turn. “It’s been nice to meet you both – I hope maybe we will meet again?

Dean gave a small nod, trying to ignore the pit that started to open in his stomach. “Take care, aright Cas?”

Castiel, still surly even now that they had formed some semblance of trust, gave Dean a look that was distinctly unimpressed. “I think you need to worry more about yourself, Dean.”

Sam and Dean laughed. ”Fair enough,” Sam smiled, “see you, Cas.”

“Goodbye, Sam, Dean.” If Castiel was one thing, it was to the point. He turned away with a tiny smile, head up, and walked away as if he knew exactly where he was going and what lay in  his path. Dean watched his back until he was out of sight.

“You think we’ll see him again?” Sam asked after a while, as he and Dean traipsed down the dusty, one-lane road to nowhere.

“God, I hope not,” Dean said seriously.

“Why?” Sam was confused.

“Because when we do, I have a feeling either he’ll be dying or we’ll be.”

**0o0o0**

Even as the winter surrounded the sky, snow peppering the ground as a harsh north wind howled through the mountains, Dean’s mind didn’t wander from Cas. Sam’s fingers were slowly turning bluer every night, stinging with the white-hot pain of the beginnings of frostbite, and food was near impossible to find – but everything they did manage to scavenge went straight to Sam, no question.

Usually, Dean would be completely against staying in one place for as long as they were now, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and if Sammy surviving this winter meant staying in the same hut for more than a few days then so be it. Most nights, Dean would wake up in a cold sweat to the sound of the storm outside, climb out of bed as his extremities started to numb, and lean his ear to Sam’s mouth just to check that he was even still breathing.

But the coldest, cruelest days of winter eventually started to fade. January dawned on the first silent night since autumn, the storm over now, and the day after that night the rain came. Outside the window, the trees and rockfaces were battered and torn at, but now the rain claimed the frost and small ice cold streams ran silently through the cracks and crevices in the uneven ground.

They’d survived.

**0o0o0**

Unbeknownst to them, Castiel sat huddled in a bare, rotting tree only a few metres away from the hut where they took shelter as the last dregs of the storm howled. Shivers wracked his body as the freezing wind tore through him, numbing mind and body alike. He knew he couldn’t sleep, or he would slip into a deep unconsciousness from which he would never wake.

A sound shattered the frozen air and caused his cold body to flood with adrenaline. A scream. A guttural, bestial, broken scream that came from the small shelter Sam and Dean were hold up in. Cas rolled from the tree, his knees seizing up as he hit the ground sprinting, he stumbled but didn’t fall. It might be too late already, but Cas had to try.

He burst through the door to find Dean holding Sam still, hushing him and trying to keep a cold cloth on his forehead. Dean’s head whipped round to look at a shocked Cas, his face bursting into confusion.

“Get out, you idiot! Go!” he hissed loudly, trying to be heard over Sam’s moaning.

Cas stood still for a moment, his shivers subsiding and his mind sharpening, then he sprung into action. He walked quickly and confidently over to Sam’s small, convulsing form, shifting a vocally and profanely protesting Dean out of the way with a gentle, “I’m- I was a doctor. Or at least, I was training to be one, you know, before. I can help.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Dean Winchester has been officially eyefucked.


	6. The Road to Hope

Cas tried to apply his knowledge from “normal” medical problems to the situation in front of him. Possible comparisons flew through his head, before he finally settled on one. “I’m going to treat this a little like an extended seizure. We don’t have any muscle relaxants or tranquilisers, I’m just going to try and keep him still and make sure he doesn’t hurt himself during the fit.”

Dean nodded stiffly, moving forward to help. “No, Dean, let me handle this bit,” Cas warned, ignoring the dirty look Dean shot at him.

“How- Why are you even here, Cas?!” Dean was full of questions. “What the hell is going on-”

“I need you to go get some cold water,” Cas cut in, shooting a disapproving look at the weather outside. “It shouldn’t be too hard.” Dean set a determined scowl on his face and walked out of the shelter, snatching a flask from the floor near the door as he went.

Cas turned back to the small, shaking child in front of him. The small whimpers that floated towards him broke his heart. He shifted the blankets from his feverish body and under his head, gently taking the boys hands in his to stop him from tearing at his own skin. He hushed him and reassured him in a soft tone, the same one he used when his little brother had had a nightmare. By the time Dean returned with a full flask, the fit was drawing to an end.

They were lucky this time, it had been a relatively short and uneventful fit. Cas lifted Sam’s light frame off the hard ground and onto the small pile of blankets in the corner, bundling him in with his hands tight by his side to discourage scratching. He laid a cold, wet cloth on the boys burning hot brow and ran a hand soothingly over his hair, damp with sweat from the exertion of the fit.

Cas turned to leave, giving Dean a curt nod as if to say that they were even now, but Dean caught his wrist.

“I need- can you stay? Please?” Dean’s voice broke on the last word and Cas saw the man’s fear and love towards the child radiate from his emerald eyes. “You could travel with us. We would feed you, protect you, shelter you. All you would have to do is help Sammy when he had his fits,” blurted out Dean, his hand sliding down and tightly gripping Cas’. Cas was tempted to wrench it out of his grasp - nothing personal, he just didn’t like being touched - yet he could hear the panic and pleading in the man’s voice and didn’t want to add embarrassment to the list.

“OK, I’ll do it,” said Cas eventually, feeling like he might regret this decision at some point, but it was worth a try. He was Castiel Novak - he’d survived eight years, he could survive a few more.

“Please! Just think ab- Wait… what?” questioned a breathless Dean. Cas smiled back reassuringly and shot a look at the sleeping boy in the corner, whose breathing was finally even in the peacefulness of his slumber.

“I said ‘yes’. I miss helping people. I miss people, so much, sometimes. And you two seem nice enough. It’s just a trial run for now, if it doesn’t work out, I’m gone,” clarified Cas sternly.

Dean let his hand slide from his grasp. “Thank you.” He said gruffly, rubbing the back of his neck and gesturing to the second pile of rags in the corner. “You- you take that, I’ll take the floor.” Without waiting for a reply, Dean lay down on the damp, rotting floor beside Sammy, resting his head on his own arm and closing his eyes.

Cas sighed tiredly and slunk cautiously to the corner, sitting down and watching the two young men slowly drift to sleep. Castiel, for the first time in a long time, drifted into a peaceful and deep slumber, to the sound of gentle snores reverberating around the small shelter.

**0o0o0**

**Sam.**

There was warmth wrapped around Sam that he hadn’t felt in a long time - the warmth of sun, in thick slats as it snuck through the single window and onto his body. He opened his eyes, blue spots waltzing through his vision for a second before they faded, and then he caught sight of the rest of the room.

Dean was sprawled out, face-down on the floor a few feet away, sandy coloured hair sticking up in every direction. His clothes were ruffled and sleep-pressed, and he was snoring loudly. In the corner on the other side of the room, a very familiar blue-eyed man slept quietly, face pressed into a slight frown even in sleep. Sam’s eyes widened in surprise, just as a memory hit him - uncontrollable tremors stabbing through him, the world slowly turning a murky grey as worried blue eyes met his own.

But what was Castiel doing here? As far as Sam could tell from their last meeting, he wasn’t exactly too eager to make friends - and anyway, he had travelled in the opposite direction when they said goodbye. What the hell had brought the mysterious man here at just the right time?

Then, it clicked.

_Castiel you idiot._

**0o0o0**

“Castiel you idiot!!”

Cas shot awake to the sound of Dean’s angry voice, immediately aware of his surroundings as his eyes rested on Sam and Dean standing over him. Instinct taking over, Cas shot bolt upright, scrambling to his feet - only to see a scowling man with severe bed head looking back at him. “What the hell were you thinking?! Following us in the winter, staying out alone in weather like this?!” Dean demanded, his hands flying around him in irate confusion. Cas, bewildered, looked back like a deer in headlights.

Dean continued, now pacing back and forth in front of Cas’ frozen, defensive stance. “You could have frozen to death! Or starved! Or been killed by a- Are you even listening to me?!” Dean asked, furious concern oozing out of him as he whirled on the man in front of him. Cas’ mind took a minute to process what was going on. Dean, tough-man Dean, was concerned about him. Someone who was practically a stranger. A smile broke over Cas’ face, fracturing the cool exterior he so often wore. Within seconds he was doubled over, laughing for the first time in a long time. Relief, amusement, a sense of belonging. Things so foreign to him flooded his chest. Dean tried to keep a straight face, but soon a smile was twitching at his lips. Cas’ laughter was infectious.

When the shorter man had caught his breath and managed to suppress the snickers that shook his body, he looked at Dean, tears from the exertion of the laughing fit streaming down his face.

“That’s the nicest thing anyone has said to me in a long time!” he chuckled. Dean looked shocked for a moment, before all three of them broke into hysterical laughter. It wasn’t that the comment had been funny, it was just all the tension and fear and isolation that had been the staple of their lives for so long melting away and echoing off the walls and round the small world of their shelter, filling ears and hearts with hope and happiness.

**0o0o0**

“A bit more hope and happiness would be nice, Sammy.”

Sam snorted mirthlessly. “Har har. All I’m saying is that we don’t have a chance of getting anywhere further tonight, so let’s stop for a little while! It’s nearly dark now anyway!”

“But-!”

“No,” Castiel interrupted, turning towards the adoptive brothers, “Sam’s right, Dean. As much as you want to keep moving, we haven’t stopped since sunrise. We need to rest.”

Dean struggled for a second, then huffed in resignment. “Alright, fine, but we get moving earlier tomorrow. Okay?” After receiving nods from his two companions, Dean stopped and looked around them.

It had been a few weeks since Castiel’s return, and they had left the familiarity of their shelter the day after Sam woke. Castiel, despite his awkward disposition, appeared to be quite a good person to have around - he mostly skimmed through the pages of his strange book when he was bored, or slept lightly. While Dean’s feet were bloody with blisters and Sam’s legs were a constant mass of pain, Castiel barely complained about much in the way of pain; in fact, barely complained about anything at all. Most nights would find him as a silent silhouette in the doorway of the place they stayed, or perching on the branch of a tree they had chosen the previous day.

Dean didn’t know why, but whenever Castiel wasn’t looking his way, he found his eyes drawn towards him. The small crease in his forehead as he frowned, the bright, cool blue of his eyes as he concentrated, the burst of happiness that came along with his smile. Something about the man was entrancing, and Dean had no idea what - and it scared him that somebody in the world had the power to draw his eyes with a single movement.

Sam, meanwhile, was as happy as he had been before the winter. Dean and Cas tried to ignore the new, small, blooming white patches dotted around Sam’s hair, instead focussing on both the road and the youngest boy’s smile, and Sam seemed to be pretty much over the fit. After thanking Cas profusely for the help (and for staying with them), Sam prepared himself for life on the apocalyptic road with a newcomer - which, apparently, wasn’t all that bad.

Dean slipped as quietly as he could into a deep forest to the left, followed silently by the other two. His eyes traced every leaf that rustled, his feet scrapping on the craggy, muddy ground below him, and his senses pulled taught for any sign of movement.

With no incident, the trio arrived in a small clearing. The ground was dotted with morose but bright blue flowers, looking out of place on the bare, rocky earth, and Dean nodded in approval as he looked around.

“Good place to stay for the night?”

Sam nodded, grinning to his friend. “Yeah, I think this works.”

The three didn’t take long to start a small fire, the sky above them gradually melting from blue to a symphony of reds and oranges. Just as they sat down, Sam and Dean bickering about who was going to do the scavenging, Castiel caught Dean’s attention by shooting him the roughest, widest grin Dean had ever seen him wear.

“So, Dean, do you think you can catch squirrel?”


	7. Family

As it turned out, Dean couldn’t catch a squirrel, however he could catch a pigeon. He swaggered triumphantly back to camp with the juicy bird slung over his shoulder and found Sam mashing up some blackberries in one of the old pots. Cas stood up as Dean returned, and started to walk towards the forest. 

“Now that you’re back I’m going to go pick some nettles. I didn’t want to leave Sam alone,” he explained to Dean, but Dean rebutted him quickly.  
  
“No way. No. You’re not going out there on your own. And anyway, what the hell do you want nettles for?”  
  
Cas sighed with irritation, “I’m a grown man Dean, I’m just as capable as you of going into the forest alone. In fact, I took care of myself for years before you came along and have done a damn good job of looking after myself AND you two since we started travelling together.” Cas huffed and cleared his throat before continuing. “And for your information, nettle stew is nutritious and has quite a pleasant flavour. So you can just sit here and prepare the pigeon while I go and pick the nettles, understood?” Dean was about to respond, despite the fact that Cas’ tone clearly demonstrated the rhetorical nature of the question, but Cas turned on his heals and strode confidently towards the treeline and out of sight.   
  
Sam chuckled and Dean turned round to face him.   
  
“What’s so funny?” Dean demanded.   
  
Sam snorted. “Dude,” he chortled, “you’re so whipped.”   
  
Dean’s face reddened. “No,” he hissed, “I’m not.”   
  
With that he stalked into the forest, Sam laughing so hard behind him that he fell off the log that he was using as a makeshift seat and onto the ground.  
  
 **0o0o0**  
  
Cas froze, his ears perking at the rustling that came from the bushes beside him. He drew his knife and turned to face the source of the noise - he heard Dean before he saw him.   
  
“Stupid bitch, thinks he’s so funny!” the man was muttering petulantly, “You’re whipped!” he mimicked sarcastically, “I’ll show him who’s fucking- Cas! I’m glad I found you!” he said quickly, walking straight up to the other man, who was sheathing his knife. “I know what you said, but I came to help because… I wanted to learn? Yeah! I wanted to learn the nettle thing!” Dean’s enthusiasm was endearing, even if it was a little played, and a small smile played on Cas’ lips.  
  
Cas chuckled and shook his head in humoured disbelief. Only Dean could be this annoying yet not get on Cas’ nerves.   
  
“I’m almost done,” he explained, “I just need maybe… one more handful?” ventured Cas, trying to figure it out in his head. Dean however, determined to help, reached out his hand and grabbed a fistful of nettles.   
  
“Let’s just go th- MOTHER OF GOD!” He sprang back, waving his hand like a maniac to shake the leaves off. Castiel jumped into action. The fact that the man who showed off his many scars for fun was having this hysterical a reaction to nettles was funny, but laughter could wait. Well, most of it anyway.   
  
Chortling, Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist and dragged him closer, snatching up some nearby dock leaves with his other hand.   
  
“Keep still!” he warned, mashing the dock leaves into a pulp quickly in his fist and spreading them onto Dean’s palm. Dean stopped squirming and sighed in relief. Castiel got lost for a second just staring at Dean’s face as he relaxed and the tension melted from his features. His heartbeat became irregular for no apparent reason, and he looked away with flushed cheeks, ducking his head. Grabbing the bucket and snagging a fistful of dock leaves, he made a gesture with his head in the direction of the camp. He didn’t trust his voice, his throat suddenly felt tight. He wondered if he was coming down with something.   
  
Dean gave a disapproving look to the green gunk on his hand before following Cas, his arm held in an odd way so as to prevent the sludge from sliding off his palm. When they returned to camp, Sam had managed to get the fire going and was boiling the saucepan of water they had collected earlier. He made eye contact with Dean and smirked at him.   
  
“Bitch,” muttered Dean, his amusement badly hidden by the stern tone.   
  
“Jerk,” replied Sam smugly, taking the bucket of nettles from Cas and dumping them in the pot. Dean sat down on the log next to Sam and waited for Cas to settle on his.   
  
“How the hell did you manage to pick all of those nettles anyway? Did you receive nettle immunity as a Christmas bonus or something?” Dean inquired scathingly.   
  
Cas raised an eyebrow, before resting his hands in his lap and explaining over the bubbling saucepan, bubbling in the embers. “You have to pinch the leaves hard in order to crush the parts which contain the chemical.” His tone was patient, as if Dean should have already know all this and he just hadn’t caught on yet.   
  
“Is your hand okay enough for you to do the pigeon while I cook?” he inquired, genuine concern now evident in his tone and body language. Sam gave the two a knowing look, as a smile crept across his face - like he had just discovered the secret of the century. Dean grinned cheekily, snatching up the pigeon and the knife beside it.   
  
“That,” he said, “I can do.” Sadly (or luckily depending on your point of view) Dean’s messy (yet undeniably effective) assault of the pigeon carcass lasted only 5 minutes before an appalled Cas practically wrenched it for his grasp and set about cleaning and cutting the bird with surgical precision.   
  
When Cas had finished making dinner, he made the other two sat on their logs around the fire and gave everyone a very generous helping. Not that at this point it was a contributing factor in what Dean ate or not, but the meal was delicious. Cas’ eyes fixed on Dean’s lips as the young man moaned in pleasure into the steaming bowl of food. Cas, suddenly very interested in his own bowl, didn’t look up again until everyone was done and Dean spoke up.   
  
“Buddy, if I had known you could cook like that, I would have kidnapped you when we first met you!” Sighing with contentment, Dean settled into one of the piles of rags by the fire. “I’m going to try and get some sleep, you should too, Sammy.” Dean continued over Sam’s squawk of indigence, “You don’t mind taking the first watch do you Cas?“ Cas, shaking his head, settling himself more comfortably by the fire.   
  
"Don’t worry, I’ll watch over you,” he said under his breath, peacefulness and a sense of familial protectiveness settling in his bones as he watched the shadows of his sleeping friends, cast by the fire, dance a strange, silent dance under the blanket of stars that shone through the dense darkness of the night sky.

**0o0o0**

The following morning rose as crisp and sharp as a green apple. There was a warm, spring lilt in the air, and Sam, Dean and Cas crunched through the last of the melting snow on the ground as they talked casually and laughed. The sky was a pastel-blue that shone through Castiel’s eyes as he grinned across at Dean.  

“You really thought that you could eat all of the squirrel? Every part?” Castiel mock-facepalmed. “How did you survive without me?” he asked in an amused voice, half-joking.

“I’ve done fine!” Dean said indignantly, “haven’t I Sammy?”

Sam snorted. “You didn’t really seem to be ‘doing fine’ before you met Cas, Dean, let’s face it. And you’ve only been here what, 8 months?”

“Seven months,” Dean muttered, “but I’m sorry I’m not as 'experienced’ as you two!”

Cas burst out laughing. “You seem to get indignant easily, Dean,” he laughed, “I didn’t know Sam could get to you that easily!”

As the trio traipsed down the cold road, breath misting in cobwebs in front of their faces and the warm breath of early spring brushing across the air, Meg watched from a few hundred feet away. Her eyes narrowed. This was going to be interesting.

**0o0o0**

As the days lengthened and the nights crept back, spring blooming across the fields as the trio moved further and further south, Dean became more and more intrigued by Castiel’s small, grubby, but highly preserved notebook. Its home was Cas’s left coat pocket, and he took it out every night before he fell asleep to make a small, uniform mark on the very back page. There was a cracked, near-empty biro tucked snugly between the spine and the pages, and every few weeks, Cas would check the marks, determine that it was the appropriate time, and fill in a single page of the book - nothing more, nothing less.

Each page Dean had caught a glimpse of was identical - neat, small print on tracing paper-thin pages, what he guessed was some kind of title at the top of the page, a few lines of information and a few paragraphs of writing. The notebook was perfectly neat and orderly, every page the same down to the word margins, and Castiel held the book like it was the most valuable thing he had ever had. Maybe, Dean thought sometimes, it was.

Meanwhile, Sam hadn’t had another fit since that night in the cabin. Dean allowed himself to hope - to have a tiny, imperceptible hope that maybe, just maybe, Sammy was getting better. Maybe the disease was fading, maybe everything was going to be okay from here on out.

Little did Dean know, this was only the beginning.


	8. Dear Diary, Tell Me Your Lies

**Sam.**

“ _GOOD MORNING VIETNAM!_ ”

Sam shot bolt upright in his blankets, breathing heavily. Dean stirred in his sleep, cracking his eyes open, and looked over at him in concern.

“You okay, kid?” he slurred in his sleep-deprived state.

“Yeah,” Sam breathed heavily. “Peachy,” he said with a forced smile. Dean was too tired to argue, and simply turned over and went back to sleep.

There was a moment of silence.

“So,” sang Lucifer in his silky, venomous tone, “you’ll lie to him unprompted, but won’t kill him. Even when I’ve been asking you to for weeks.”

Sam scowled at him and stood up, walking swiftly away from Cas and Dean.

“Come on Buddy! Don’t ignore me! I’m your friend!” called out the sickly-pale man. Sam winced, forgetting for a moment that Luci’s shouting wouldn’t wake up the two men.

“Shut up!” Sam snarled in a whisper, “You’re not my friend! Not even the real Luci was! He was just some messed up kid who lived beside me! And you are just some hallucination made by the disease!”

Lucifer laughed. “You just keep telling yourself that, Sammy.”

Sam shot him a venomous look. “Only Dean gets to call me that.”

The man put a hand on his heart in mock hurt. “Just because I’m not real doesn’t mean we don’t have a real connection!” he simpered in a false tone, a childish frown on his face.

“I won’t do it,” vowed Sam, more to himself than to Lucifer. “I won’t hurt the only family I have left, and I certainly won’t kill them.” Sam drew himself up, looking straight into Luci’s eyes. “No matter what the disease throws at me.” He stalked off back to his makeshift bed.

“Ah, but even if you won’t do it, you want to!” the man hollered after him. “You’re hungry, Sam, I can feel it.”

Sam covered his ears with his hands and groaned quietly.

**0o0o0**

A few hours later, when the other two men awoke to find Sammy sitting with is arms wrapped around his knees, his blood shot eyes staring into nothing, Dean immediately jumped to the conclusion that it had been a nightmare. Sam played along, because what else could he do? After Dean was sure that he was okay, the trio set out along their path to a nearby, abandoned town.

Sammy walked a little behind the other two, their laughter and jovial conversation floating back to him on the spring breeze. Yet it was drowned out by the constant prattling of his favourite ‘imaginary friend’, as Lucifer had dubbed himself. Sam had once had an imaginary friend, as a child. This was not it.

“So, Sammy boy, are you going to say yes to me? That’s all you have to do, just say yes and kill them and all the pain will go away,” soothed the man. Sam gritted his teeth and pulled his rucksack tight against his back, trying to recite something from the Spanish club he took as a kid in his head, in order to distract himself.

'Hola, mi nombre es Sam Campbell. He estado estudiando español durante dos añ-’ his train of thought was interrupted yet again.

“You must have realised that the diseased don’t look like they’re in pain. Sure they’re angry, but so are you. Have been for as long as you can remember! It’ll still be anger, just no pain!” stated Luci gleefully, making a sweeping gesture with his hands like he had solved all of the world’s problems.

'Hola, mi nombre es Sam Campbell. He estado estudiando esp-’ started Sam again.

“Come on Sammy, talk to me! I’m bored!” Interrupted Luci petulantly. “Sam whirled on the patch of thin air where his adversary was standing. "Shut UP! Just shut the HELL UP!!!” He screamed. Cas and Dean stopped and turned to look at Sam, shock and concern on both of their faces.

Sam turned red. He couldn’t tell them, they would run for the hills. So he lied, again.

“Sorry, headache.” Cas gave an understanding nod and turned to continue walking. Dean stared at Sam a little, sizing him up, trying to figure out what was really wrong. Unable to figure it out, he walked on. The rest of the journey was silent, even when they reached the town and found an old apartment building to stay in for a few days.

They all just filed wordlessly into a room, and Sam sat down on the sofa. Dean walked over and sat beside him. The teen tried to shuffle away, but Dean caught his arm.

“I don’t know what’s up, but you’re going to tell me soon.” Sam made a noise of protest to try and deny it before Dean shushed him. “For now, though,” he continued, unfazed, “you’re going to sleep.”

With that, he pulled Sam into a rough hug, before letting go and starting to talk in a soothing voice. “Did I ever tell you about the time I rode my bike up a tree? Well, into a tree, but it’s still a good story. Basically, this stupid son of a bitch bet me 10 dollars I couldn’t do it…”

Sam drifted of to the sound of Dean’s voice. Only his.

**0o0o0**

**Castiel**.

_Day 3104._

_Month 102._

_Year 9._

_The weather has thankfully warmed since last month, and another fit has yet to occur. This means that Dean is happy at least, and Sam isn’t dead, which is also an upside. We seem to be moving south, and by my guesses, I would say that we’re near a city. Venturing into suburbia as we did yesterday was a risk, but luckily it paid off - this area seems abandoned, and we have found our home for the next few days._

_In a few weeks, if things continue as they have for the last three years, the rain will come. I suspect that Sam and Dean will be quite happy about this - they seem to find an upside to most things._

_I’m fine. Dean and I are still on alert in case Sam has another fit, and their nightmares are far from healthy, but I can deal with them. Sam seems a little out of it - there was a minor incident yesterday - but he seems a little better now. I would rather me have to handle their problems than them handle mine - as I have virtually none compared to them. If this is what it’s like to have family, then I quite like it._

_The next entry will be written next month, given, once again, that I am here to write it._

_Day 3104,_

_Castiel Robert ~~W~~ Novak._

**——-**

Castiel closed the rough and tattered book, smoothing his hand over the cover and contemplating what he’d written. He looked up at the wall in front of him, the dust in the air spiralling in a soft cascade through the thin beam of light that was streaming from his right. Pushing himself back from the almost bare desk, his chair slid over the cracked tiles with a soft 'scree’.

Cas stood and walked solemnly to the window, his shoes scuffing out a rhythmic march as he crossed over the cold, broken floor. He leant against the grimy window, uncaring about the fragility or uncleanliness of the surface, and stared out at the shadowed wasteland below. The sun was setting, casting a long, dark silhouette of a once thriving town onto the ground.

The man sighed in resignation. This was his life, this was his world and this, he thought as he looked over at Sam and Dean, was his family. It wasn’t perfect, but maybe that was what made it worth fighting for - or at least, made it what it was.

As he watched the two brothers - which they undoubtedly were by now - Dean eased a sleeping Sam off his shoulder and tucked a blanket round him on the sofa. Dean smiled at the boy and walked over to Cas, leaning against the wall to look out at the same desolate view that confronted Cas.

“I remember living up here with my dad for a couple of weeks,” Dean said suddenly, and Castiel looked at him in surprise. “I was just a kid, but I remember it vividly. It was so vibrant, so full of life, so… normal. I guess it’s still normal, just a different kind of normal. Today’s normal.” Dean’s tone was thick with bitterness.

Cas looked at his expression, a tight frown around his lips, his forehead creased in deep thought. He didn’t like seeing Dean like this - he deserved to be happy. Even in a time and place like this. He hadn’t really talked much about his life before the disease broke out, but the little he had mentioned about his father hardly portrayed him as father of the year.

“I stayed a few hundred miles west once, on a family trip. Not the full family - just me and my two brothers and our aunt. It’s still one of my happiest childhood memories. We spent the whole day eating junk food and staying up obscenely late.” Cas chuckled fondly, then smiled broadly when he saw that Dean’s eyes were sparkling with happiness and interest.

Cas continued enthusiastically, “My two brothers were the best. I was sort of a father figure to the younger one. I loved that kid so much, I wish he was with me now so that I could look out for him, but last I heard he out at Outpost 4.”

Dean froze.

“I just want him to be safe and happy.” Castiel’s smile died a little. Outpost 4 and all of its inhabitants were most likely dead by now. However, he still smiled softly, thinking about the chubby kid that had followed him everywhere. It used to irritate him, but he’d give anything for him to do it again.

Dean spoke up, mind still whirring. “I had a kid like that, before Sam. What was your brother’s name?”

“Samandriel,” said Cas, squinting out of the murky window.

Dean’s face went abruptly stark-white. Cas couldn’t even hear his breathing. He looked over at the other man to check that he was OK and saw that he was as pale as a sheet. Cas shot out a hand and grabbed Dean’s arm - he looked like he was going to collapse.

“Dean! What’s wrong!?” asked Cas worriedly, his brow furrowed in concern. Dean whispered a single word, a name, a nickname that he hadn’t heard in years. In a small, broken, shuddering voice, Dean said it.

“ _Alfie?_ ”


	9. Skeletons In the Closet

**Sam.**

Sam fell asleep to the sounds of Dean and Castiel’s loud argument in the next room along - something about a kid called ‘Alfie’, and for the first time since he’d met him, Castiel sounded truly angry. It sent a thrill through Sam, made him want to bury his head in the ground. When Castiel was calm, he was only a breeze, but when he was angry, he was a thousand thunderstorms.  

But, despite the war of sea and sky that raged through Castiel’s voice, it seemed that Dean one the argument; how, Sam had no idea. The green-eyed man stormed in, a spitting flame of wrath, and said 'not now, Cas, I can’t tell you about him now! Have some damn perspective!’

Even when the room had finally silenced, and the moon fed itself in threads of silver through the window, Cas’s voice still rumbled through his memories with a clap of thunder; and Sam realised, yet again, how dangerous the usually calm man really was.

**0o0o0**

The morning that followed was one of the worst of Sam’s life.

**0o0o0**

Sam sat, slack-jawed, frozen by morbid fascination. After his dream - what he saw, what he did - he’d though waking up would be an escape. He didn’t expect Cas and Dean to be replaced with the images of the corpses he had left in his wake in the nightmare.

Everything around Cas, everything he could see and all of his senses, were covered by the thick, cloying fog of the disease. Dean laughed loudly at a comment made by Cas, and a large stream of blood ran from his cheek into his bowl of dried porridge, stolen from a storage crate. Castiel’s face was a mangled mass of burnt flesh, a small stream of tears trickling from one eye

OK, that was it, Sam was going to hurl.

He got up and staggered unevenly towards the door, but Cas got up and rushed to his side, catching him just before he hit the ground. Sam took a second to try and breath and stop his head from spinning. He opened his eyes cautiously, expecting the world to be spinning like a top, but he saw clearly and that was so much worse.

Through the elbow of the arm that Sam was clinging to, the bone was protruding as white as chalk.

Sam screamed and threw himself back, scrambling into a corner as he flashed back to when he did that - when he broke that arm. No, he corrected, when he dreamt that he did it. This was not real, not real, not real.

But it felt so, so real. Cas’s arm was snapped like a matchstick under his fingers. Dean’s neck was a canvas of blood like somebody had given up on painting. It was his fault, he was the monster. He was the savage. He was the animal.

Dean’s voice floated from the void around him. “Sammy, buddy, come back to us, okay? You’re awake, I’m real, Cas is real, but whatever else you’re seeing isn’t there. You’ve got to come back to us, kid. We just want to help.”

Sam steeled himself for a minute, then opened his eyes. He blinked away the tears, and when his vision cleared, he saw Cas and Dean, concerned but whole and healthy and alive. Sure Lucifer was there, but it was still an improvement.

**0o0o0**

“So, hallucinations?” asked Dean cautiously. Sam nodded slowly. “Still seeing anything?” the man asked nervously. Sam nodded again. “Would- would it help to lie down?” he asked, protectiveness and something much worse coating his voice. Fear.

Sam felt sick again. He got up and pushed between Cas and Dean. “I’ll be fine,” he rushed out, “I’m just going to camp out in the bathroom with a bucket for a while.” He looked back at the men as he walked away and saw their complete lack of reaction as Lucifer laid his hand on Cas’ shoulder and said, “I’ll look after him Doc.” It might have been funny if it wasn’t so unnerving.

**0o0o0**

The bathroom tiles were cold beneath Sam’s feet as he leant against a wall, stomach churning. After a few seconds of silence, Castiel padded almost silently into the room behind him.

“Was your hallucination… A person?” the man asked cautiously.

“Yeah - it’s just this kid who used to be my neighbour.”

“Was he cruel?”

“Who, Luci? Not really - he just didn’t like it when things didn’t go his way. Whenever we would play together and I refused to stick to 'his’ rules. He’d say 'Say you’ll do it my way. Say yes’. Mostly he was just creepy.”

Castiel made a small choking noise. “Did-did you say Luci? As in Lucifer?”

“Yeah, why? Do you know him?”

Cas exploded. “What is it with you two and my brothers?!”

“You have a brother called Lucifer?”

“Yes,” Castiel said, “but we haven’t seen each other for years. Family break.”

Sam chanced his luck. “So, this 'Samandriel’ guy… He’s your younger brother?”  
Cas was silent for a second. “Yes. Dean knew him at Outpost 4 and, even if he won’t tell me what happened, I think I can guess… and I think you can, too?”

Sam nodded mutely.

There was a moment of silence, and then Castiel chuckled. “Next thing you know, one of you is going to mention Gabriel,” he muttered under his breath.

**0o0o0**

Oh fuck.

**0o0o0**

The door to the bathroom slowly slid shut as Sam saw Cas walk up to Dean to report what he had learned.

“So, family reunion! What about that, Sammy boy?” chimed Lucifer. Sam was dragged unceremoniously from his fond memories into the real world (technically real world adjacent, but the line was blurring more everyday). Sam sometimes had a hard time keeping up. “Who would have thought it? My best bud and my half brother!” exclaimed Lucifer with a mellow laugh.

Every muscle in Sam’s body tensed. Cas hadn’t said half brother.

He couldn’t have known that. Except he didn’t know it, it was just a random sentence his brain had produced. “I am his half brother Sam, ask him if you want. He’ll tell you,” Lucifer said coldly, goading Sam to action.

“No. And even if it is true, I probably put it together from pieces of information that I overheard,” snarled Sam firmly.

“Ask him Sam, do it. I know you’re curious. You want to know. You NEED to know. Ask him, go on, as-” pushed Lucifer, abruptly stopping as Sam stood up, grabbing the rusty sink for support.

“If I ask him will you shut up?” he gritted out, his eyes squeezed shut to keep the ceiling still.

“I will,” promised the man with a vicious grin.

**0o0o0**

Sam walked slowly into the living room where Cas and Dean were talking, hugging the wall as he went. Cas saw Dean’s eyes flick to Sam and turned to face him. Something burned white hot in Sam’s head, he squeezed his eyes shut.

“Are you okay, Sammy?” demanded Dean. Sam heard the older man take a step forward, so he put out his hand to tell him to stop. He felt really weird, like he was on the edge of a cliff and was just about to fall.

“Was. Luci. Your. Half. Brother?” Sam pushed out in small, clipped, syllables.

Castiel frowned deeply. “Yes, but I think you should sit down Sam. You don’t look too good,” replied Cas.

And with that Sam slipped, cascading over the edge and flying at Cas. The last thing he remembered was Dean apologizing, and slamming his fist into his skull.

**0o0o0**

When Sam woke up, pale white goop and blood was dripping from his nose as Cas tried to wipe as the excess from his face. Dean knelt to the left of Sammy, holding his hand. He squeezed it when he saw Sam’s eyes open.

“Hey kid. Is it you in there?” he ventured softly.

“Yeah, ” croaked Sam, “and I think we’re alone again.”

Cas pushed the pile of saturated tissues away. “If I had to guess, I’d say that a buildup of diseased fluid in Sam’s body caused the symptoms. Best case scenario - periodic and controlled bleeding will stem the effects for a while.” Cas explained clinically, but his tone softened after that. “Now, how about we all get some food?”

Everyone seemed to silently agree that ignoring the problem was the best way to deal with it for now.

**0o0o0**

When Cas and Dean were alone, however, ignoring the problem was exactly the opposite of what Dean did.

“Cas, I’m- I just- what do I do? What can I do? I don’t know how to help him!” Dean rambled, his breathing shaky and his arms flailing. “He’s my responsibility and I failed him. Already, I’ve failed him.” Dean ran a shaky hand through his hair.

His breathing became increasingly uneven. “Dean,” said Cas firmly, taking his hands and holding onto them. “Look at me. Breath with me, OK?” Cas commanded, guiding Dean to the floor. Dean looked at Cas, his eyes panicked and his chest heaving. Cas couldn’t think, so he just acted. He leaned forward and pressed his lips against Dean’s.

Dean didn’t kiss back, but his body relaxed beneath Cas and a small gasp signalled the end of his uneven breathing. He sort of stopped breathing altogether. The kiss only lasted a few seconds, before Castiel pulled away.

Cas leaned back, embarrassment and exhilaration reddening his cheeks. “Umm. I-I heard that that works in extreme circumstances and I sort of… Panicked,” stumbled Cas, trying to justify his actions to no one in particular.

“Oh, yeah sure, OK. OK. Sure,” Dean said in a high-pitched voice, staring at Cas with wide eyes.

“You good? With the panic attack. Not the kiss. Not that it was a bad kiss. Not that it was a kiss… medical techniques and all,” Cas continued to dig the hole deeper.

“I used to get them as a kid.” explained Dean, “Just my dad, and the moving and school and stuff. It’s fine. I’m just going to head to bed. That sort of took a lot out of me,” Dean muttered shortly. His cheeks rosy, he got up quickly and walked into the room where Sam was sleeping, leaving Castiel alone.


	10. Skeleton City

For the next few days, as the trio moved out of their temporary shelter and started to progress further and further into the city, Sam didn’t see hide nor hair of the man who had haunted him before. Lucifer was like a distant memory, something that had never even existed in the first place, and for that, Sam was glad - even if it meant he had to bleed into a small cup every few hours just to keep it that way. The small group had bigger problems then Sam’s hallucinations - like how the walls of the broken city rose slowly around them, monsters in the dust and rubble, as they traveled further and further into the city.

Dean was antsy and Cas was cagey - neither of them liked this. Used to the long, open and empty road before them, the skeleton city that surrounded was like a cage to them, something that they wanted desperately to escape. In fact, Sam seemed to be the only one in the group with any type of calmness. Unlike the other two, Sam actually quite liked the city. If he closed his eyes, he could just about imagine the city as it had once been, bustling and loud and warm.

He let his eyes flutter shut, walking in a straight line behind Cas and Dean until he heard a loud grunt of pain as someone had the wind knock out of them, and a cry of alarm. His eyes flew open and he saw Dean scrambling backwards on the concrete road, at the feet of a young, blond woman.

Sam took a step forward, a cry on his lips, but stopped when he felt cold, sharp steel against his neck and a brush of breath against his ear as someone whispered, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.” Another woman. Sam felt her head turn to look at Cas, who had turned his attention from the brawl to Sam. “And you! Trench coat! Hands behind your head and on your knees!”

Painfully aware of the violent nature of humanity from his own experience, he chose not to risk Sam’s life and complied. Sam looked back over at Dean, who had somehow been pinned down by the small, blond girl.

“Don’t struggle,” she ordered, “or I will use force.”

Dean chuckled, seemingly unperturbed by his split lip, “What do you call this then?” His lips twisted into a smirk. “But seriously, give it your best shot. You hit like a girl anyway.”

The blond woman smiled like a dragon who had just cornered her prey. “Thanks for the compliment!” she growled as she drew back her fist and slammed it into Dean’s nose, knocking him out cold. His body crashed to the ground with a loud thump, and Castiel visibly flinched.

She turned to her partner. “So, are you going to help me carry him, or should we get pervy trench coat guy to help?”

Well, thought Sam, this day wasn’t exactly going as planned.

**0o0o0**

Sam and Cas watched as their hands and feet were tied in such a way that would permit only a slow shuffling walk, afraid to resist when there was a knife at an unconscious Dean’s throat. He too was bound, but in a way that inhibited any movement, and had been set on one of their more durable blankets to be dragged by the woman who had knocked him out. The other woman, taller and seemingly more mellow, called her Jo - in return, Jo called her Jess. Jess held Sam and Cas’ ropes.

When everything was ready, the small group set off. The two women refused to answer any questions as to where, why or to what and who they where marching, replying only with, “All questions must be held until you have been debriefed by the leader. Please remain silent on the journey.” Their tones were cruel mockeries of the disembodied voices on aeroplanes that told you to put on your safety belt, and they gave Sam the cold, sharp feeling of ice slipping down the back of your neck.

Cas tried to get a look at Dean. He didn’t even know if he had woken up or not. Jo was walking behind them, and if Cas tried to turn around, he got yanked back. If he tried to stop, he got a sharp prod between the shoulder blades with a dagger. Despite his restraints, Cas still wanted to seize Sam and haul ass, but with Dean that tightly bound and possibly still unconscious, there was definitely no way they were all getting out of there alive.

It was only when the group reached a large gate with two armed men posted on either side that Jo drew level to them, and Cas saw a very awake, very pissed Dean bound and gagged on the blanket. Jess explained where they had ambushed the trio (or in her words, ‘apprehended’) before the gates were opened and they were permitted access to whatever lay beyond. Was it danger? Death? Or a small village that appeared to hold about 20-30 inhabitants? Cas decided to trust his eyes and his gut and go for all three.

The street stretched down to slip at the end, where it was guarded heavily

Everyone stopped when they entered to gawk at the new arrivals as they were marched to small cabin to the left of the compound. Dean struggled on the blanket, growling muffled threats through his gag, all of which earned him a dull 'thunk’ as he was pulled unceremoniously over the threshold and his head hit 'accidentally’ off the wooden frame of the door. The trio were steered and dragged into the centre of a room facing an old oak desk at which a older man with dark hair, peppered with grey, sat. An unsettling, familiar, sickening feeling settled in Dean’s stomach when he saw the man’s face, though he couldn’t tell why. Gut instinct? Or something more?

“So,” the man started in a gruff tone, “what brings you boys, strangers I might add, to my district?”

“Your district?!” Dean’s gag was off and he didn’t look happy - immediately standing slightly in front of the other two as he glared around at the strangers around them. “Since when was anything 'yours’?”

“Since I earned it,” the man shot back calmly. “Just like you’ll have to earn our trust if you want to take a step out of here again.”

The man approached Dean until he was directly in front of him. Dean stared hard into his eyes, then spat in his face.

**0o0o0**

After being stripped of their weapons and being patted down by a polite but gruff woman named Ellen, the trio was bundled into a small, shed-like structure with 3 narrow beds. Apparently they were to contained “until it was deemed that they were not a threat to the camp or it’s inhabitants.” But Dean only heard “until we decide whether or not to kill you.” He paced back and forth in front of the heavy door, bolted from the outside.

For the first day they were mostly left alone, the only outside interaction being when the small hatch at the bottom of the door was opened and a tray with 3 bowls of brown sludge was pushed through. Dean picked one up and sniffed it experimentally.

“Doesn’t look to bad.” He shrugged, pouring some into his mouth. “I was wrong.” Dean pulled a face and picked up the tray to bring it to the other two. Cas raised an eyebrow and Dean handed him a bowl. “We either eat this, or we don’t eat at all. But I’d leave it a while to see if it has any adverse reactions on me.” Castiel glared at Dean, suddenly realizing that he had gone first so that if it was drugged or poisoned, he was the only one affected.

After 30 minutes of waiting, Dean decided that the food was safe to eat. Unfortunately, as it turns out, the only thing worse than brown sludge is cold brown sludge. Sam picked at the lumpy mixture, before sighing and setting it on the floor. After a second, he swung his legs up and lay down on the hard, scratchy mattress and tried to sleep. Dean spent the evening pacing and trying to find a way out, Cas tried to get him to calm down and come to bed, but Dean refused. Eventually Cas gave up and went to sleep, leaving Dean to pace until a scream shattered his concentration.

Dean whipped round to see Sam writhing and screaming on the bed, he barely got to his side in time to stop his head from cracking off the floor. Cas was by his side in an instant. They both knew what had happened, in all of the excitement, Sam hadn’t been bled. Dean had screwed up again, and now Sammy might die. Or worse.

Dean’s head was swimming - he had no knife, no way to relieve Sam’s suffering. He swallowed his pride and paranoia, doing the only thing he could think of.

“HELP US!!” he bellowed, “PLEASE! SOMEBODY HELP US!!!”

After what seemed like hours, but was surely only a few seconds the door burst open and a man with greying hair and a beaten and battered blue hat stormed in.

“What the hell are you idjits hollering ab-” his voice cut out as he saw Sam. “You brought an infected into the camp? What were you boys thinking?!”

Dean pushed himself away from the bed and stalked over to the man. “Listen here, he’s not an infected, he’s half gone. And if you don’t give me a knife to that I can help him, you’re going to wish that the blond chick had killed me when she had the chance!”

The man hesitated. “My wife was half gone… Balls!” he exclaimed, taking a syringe from his pack and presenting it to Dean. “This’ll work better.” he muttered gruffly, casting a concerned look at Sam. Cas appeared at Dean’s side and snatched the syringe from the mans hand. He swung back to Sam and set to work extracting the white fluid from key areas. The lymph nodes, the major arteries, the joints. He only paused to squish the pale liquid onto the concrete floor in order to make room for more.

After a while, Sam’s breathing became more even, and his whimpering quietened as he slipped back into unconsciousness, sweat beaded on his pale skin. Only then did Cas lift him back onto the bed. He turned to the man in the door way and gave him a grateful nod.

“Do you mind if I hang onto this?” he asked in a monotone voice.

The man nodded curtly. “My name’s Bobby, just so you know. I’m going to try and- well, to argue your case. My wife lived here for many months before I- before the end. I don’t see why the same can’t be true for your kid.”

“He’s not our- never mind. Thank you Bobby. We’d really appreciate your help.” Dean’s voice was raw, but surprisingly soft. The next few days went like clockwork. Wake up, eat, guarded trip to the bathroom, back to the shed, exercise in the small fenced yard, eat again and then free for the rest of the day until dinner, after which it was time to bleed Sam and sleep.

Three days in, however, they were pulled from the small room and stood in front of a panel. This was it, this was when it was what decided whether Sam lived or died.


	11. Lawless

The trio filed silently into the dimly lit hall. The candles cast shadows across the dusty floor, darkened the features of the small panel of citizens before them. Sam was pale and weak from the regular bleeding’s, and required Dean’s help to stay upright, but his eyes and mind were clearer than Dean had seen in a long time.

“You may be seated.” The still nameless, yet familiar leader’s voice echoed through the cavernous room, before being swallowed into the silence.

He gestured to the three wooden chairs in the middle of the room, and Dean eased Sam into the middle one, refusing to take his eyes off the panel. He sized the panel’s occupants up, having already scoped the room. If things went south, they got out. Fast. Cas took his seat and gave Sam a reassuring pat on the back, earning wobbly smile in response. Dean frowned. These people had already done enough damage to his group, and even if they were allowed to stay, Dean was planning on a swift and silent exit.

He sat down in the remaining chair, his muscles coiled and tensed. He was wound so tightly that he didn’t even notice that the hearing had started until someone said his name.

“Dean? Do you need me to repeat the question?” hissed an annoyed voice, the tone implying that Dean had disrespected him. Respect was earned, and so far no one in this hellhole had done that; except that Bobby guy.

“If you want me to answer it then yes, you do,” replied Dean matter-of-factly.

“I asked you and your comrades if you had ever taken the life of an uninfected. They replied no, what about you?” demanded the gruff man.

Dean snorted. He had never killed anyone who was uninfected, even the ones who jumped him. However, he didn’t particularly like this guy, and was determined not to tell him what he wanted to hear.

“No one who didn’t deserve it,” He said with a smirk. Cas saw right through his lie and gave him a dark scowl, trying to explain to the panel that he was just being difficult. Apparently, they were only taking people’s first answers. Dean smiled to himself - technically he hadn’t lied. He’d never said that he had killed anybody. They reached that conclusion on their own.

Cas, however, was not amused, and gave Dean a look that said ‘pull it together, or I’ll start pulling teeth!’ He had oddly emotive blue eyes, very easy to get lost in. This time, they both got in trouble for not paying attention.

“So far, Sam seems to be the only one making an effort here. I asked you what skills you could bring to the camp!” The man didn’t shout, but the irate tone was somehow worse. It hit something close to home and made Dean sit up straight and quiet in his chair.

Cas went first. “I-I’m an okay cook, I’m not adverse to manual labour of any sort. I’m also a doctor - well, doctor in training. And I can fight.”

A murmur of approval rippled through the panel. before they were hushed by their leader. The man fixed Dean with a cold, piercing glare. “And what about you, son?” A shiver ran through Dean - no one had called him that since the days of his father.

John Winchester had been a kind man, but he had been turned obsessive and emotionless by the death of Dean’s mother; when Dean was four, a mugger killed her. Dean’s father. blinded by rage and grief, buried himself in unsolved case and full bottles until he was kicked off the police force. Then, he buried himself in freelance cases, empty bottles and self loathing. Not exactly an improvement. Dean looked after himself - the only interactions he had with his father were criticisms and corrections, or when he taught Dean skills like how to fix a car, or how to use a gun. Those were some of Dean’s best memories, until he met Sam and Cas.

“I’m skilled with weapons and hand to hand combat. I can fix just about anything too,” he aid in a controlled voice.

The leader nodded. “Well, if that’s everything, we’ll take a vote. Oh, first, I assume that you two”, he said pointing at Cas and Dean, “are willing to supervise the boy and put him down if necessary?”

The room went silent as the dark, looming cloud was addressed so bluntly. Dean’s blood boiled when he saw Sammy’s cheeks redden and his gaze fall, but before he could say anything, Cas nodded curtly.

“Of course,” he said.

The leader sat back in his chair and looked around at the panel. “In that case, let’s vote. All those who wish to permit these boys entrance into our camp, please raise your hand.” Three quarters of the room raised their hands, causing Sam and Cas to sigh in relief. Dean was reluctant to celebrate; the leader hadn’t been one of them.

“Well, since the majority has the vote, then it’s decided. I, John Winchester, hereby declare you boys official citizens.”

Ice flooded Dean’s veins. His ears rang a tuneless, high-pitched sonar blip. His mouth was dry. He just sat, staring slack-jawed at the man in front of him.

John Winchester.

His father.

He was so much older, his face worn, his hair greying. Dean didn’t even register Cas asking him what was wrong, or trying to pry him from the chair to which he was clinging to with white knuckles. John shot him a concerned look, but there was no recognition in the man’s eyes. He had no idea who Dean was.

“You can leave now,” he said bluntly.

Dean got up stiffly and nodded shortly. “Yes, sir,” he muttered, his tone the same as it had been since he was 4. He turned on his heals and practically carried Sam out of the room.

He would have kept going, out of the camp, out of the district and out of the city, but he needed time to figure out how to get provisions and other necessities. One thing he didn’t need to think about though; there was no way they were staying here.

**0o0o0**

Dean woke up in a cold sweat back in the small bunker they had been assigned when the arrived. The darkness around him was a cloak around his vision, his eyes searching madly through the blackness as he took in where he was and sighed. Apparently they would receive new accommodation in a few days.

Dean should have expected the nightmare, especially after the previous day’s revelations. It was a reoccurring nightmare, always the same. It was less of a dream, and more of a memory.

On the night when John lost his job and had stumbled home drunk to find a seven-year old Dean sitting at the kitchen table with dinner made. Dean had stood up to great his father and had accidentally knocked over his glass of milk. While Dean was scrambling to clean it up, John had snapped, he hurled an empty bottle of whiskey at Dean and screamed, “It’s your fault she died! She wouldn’t have been out that night if it wasn’t for you!”

Dean had spent the rest of the night pressing down on a gash on his arm, and trying not to cry. As the saying goes, 'there’s no point crying over spilled milk.’ It was the only time that John had actually been physically abusive, but at such a young age, it stuck with Dean for the rest of his life.

He must have made some sort of choked sound when he woke up though, because Cas suddenly appeared at the side of his bed.

“I knew that you weren’t fine about the fact that your dad was here,” he stated knowingly, a glint of the older, steelier Cas in his eyes as he crouched beside Dean. “I don’t see why you insist on telling me the facts, but not the feelings, when I can guess the feelings anyway.” His voice was a whisper through the dark that Dean could barely make out.

The other man stayed silent. He didn’t know what to say, and he was afraid that his voice would crack if he tried to speak. After not having the nightmare in so long, it had hit him hard. Cas stayed still for a moment, before be walked around to the other side of Dean’s bed and pushed him forward with his hand.

“Come on, move over,” he ordered. Too tired and emotional to put up a fight, Dean shuffled forward in the bed. He tensed up when he felt the bed sag as Cas climbed in behind him. The two men lay stiffly for a second, a small gap between their bodies.

“You know what, this isn’t going to work,” muttered Dean, turning to look at Cas, whose face fell. “Either we spoon or someone is going to fall out of this thing,” he continued, his first smile dawning like the sun on his face.

Cas’ face broke into a grin, and he threw an arm over Dean, radiating heat and comfort into his bones. They stayed like that until the next morning when they awoke to find Sam looking at them with a smug look on his face. Dean really didn’t care. He was well rested, content, and he had two people that he loved.

And he did, he did love Cas. But for now it seemed that this was enough. Just being there for each other. In that moment Dean vowed, he was going to get them out of here, he was going to make sure they were happy.

**0o0o0**

**_Sam, weeks later._ **

“I can’t believe Ellen just pinched your cheeks! Again!” cackled Jess, doubling over and clutching onto Sam’s arm. He tried to scowl at her, but couldn’t suppress the twitch in the corner of his mouth.

“I saw that, Sam,” teased Jo, smirking at Sam’s feigned annoyance. It was hard to be angry at being teased when it was the most attention you’d gotten in your life. He didn’t even get many sad, sympathetic glances anymore. He was 'Sam the book nerd’ not 'Sam the half-gone kid’, and it was perfect.

There weren’t many kids, so they tended to get a lot of attention. Apart from himself and Jess, the only other kid was Adam ([X](http://t.umblr.com/redirect?z=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.urbandictionary.com%2Fdefine.php%3Fterm%3Dholy%2520crap&t=YTIxZmIzYjliNWQ3NzhkZjJmMGY4NzZhNjhiZWNlOTI3MzM5MzViMyxVSVN4WkJvdw%3D%3D&b=t%3A4WCSwf2jmipzh-apXj1QFA&m=1)), John’s three year old son. Dean’s half brother.

After Sam awoke to find Cas and Dean spooning (or rather, after Sam stopped laughing and teasing them), Dean had told Sam that John was his father. But apparently, somebody needed to tell _John_ that. It was only the next day that the clueless idiot introduced the trio to his new wife and young son.

Dean had held his composure well until that night when they were alone in the cabin.

To Dean’s credit though, he’d never been rude to John, his wife or Adam since they arrived. Dean tended to avoid the kid, but Sam thought he was adorable and knew that Dean did too. Even after only a week, Sam was more at home than he had felt in a long time. He shared a cabin with Cas and Dean, and even had his own room (not that he slept in it all that much). He had friends, he had Jess, and he was finally getting back into education; sort of.

Bobby had a lot of old books, and had promised to try and teach Sam everything he knew, as much as he could in the time Sam had left. It was nice to have someone around who had experience with someone half-gone. Cas was in there most nights, trying to advance his medical knowledge, so they were able to share candles to conserve them.

The blue-eyed mam was fitting in well too. Not only did he have practice with treating people, but he was a renowned cook and well respected leader in the community. His opinions were taken on everything from rationing to strategy for scouting parties like Jo and Jess.

The only one having difficulty was Dean. He was seen as valuable - a skilled soldier, labourer and scout - but he didn’t fit in the community. He was too surly, too antisocial. The normally charismatic man simply refused to let his guard down. He skirted the edges of the camp, checking the perimeter for faults and avoiding human contact at all costs (well, except for Adam).

Despite the fact that he shied away from John and his new family, afraid that he might be recognized, and regardless of the fact that Adam was, as Dean said, “a snot nosed brat”, there was many a day where the same scene unfolded in front of Sam. Sam watched from the corner of his eye, so as to not alert Dean to the fact that he was watching the adorable interaction.

“Look, I have to work,” Dean whispered to the chubby boy hugging his leg.

“Up! Up! Up!” replied the small, rosy-cheeked child, hopping up and down.

Dean sighed. “You’re impossible to communicate with…” he muttered shaking his head.

“Pwease, unka Dean!” pleaded the boy, his bottom lip quivering. Dean looked around, and Sam ducked behind one of the cabins. It was adorable that Dean liked the kid so much and Sam didn’t want to embarrass him and put him off. Dean, satisfied that it was safe, hoisted the child onto his hip and continued his patrols.

Sam grinned broadly. Cas was going to love this story.

**0o0o0**

Sam and Cas were slightly concerned about Dean. Every time there was a scout or a supply run, or an external perimeter check, he rushed to sign up. He couldn’t seem to stand life within the boundaries of the camp - or maybe it was just the inhabitants. Most of their conversations recently consisted of Dean trying to point out flaws in the camp and becoming increasingly more irate and agitated when Sam and Cas sang it’s praises. There had even been a couple of times that he had outright suggested they leave, but Cas was usually able to pull him off the ceiling.

These pent-up feelings reached their climax on a warm evening about four weeks after their integration into the group. Dean was standing, joking with Sam by the well when Cas stormed up the them, blue eyes stormy. For the first time since they met, Dean felt the sudden urge to find a desk to hide under when those dangerous eyes met his.

“You’re leaving!? You can’t stand to be around us that much?! Really?!”

Dean put out his hands to try and placate Cas, “Look, that’s not it and you know it,” he said firmly.

Cas laughed bitterly, “Yeah, you’re right. It’s your insane death wish!”

Sam backed slowly away from the pair and disappeared into the steadily-growing crowd who had come to investigate the commotion.

“I need to get out of here because I’m going stir crazy in this dump! And I don’t see what the big issue is, it’s three days!” retorted Dean defensively. “I’d gladly leave for good, but not without you and Sammy!”

“Well, we’re not going anywhere. We’re happy here, and if you can’t see that then your as blind as your father!”

Cas dealt a low blow, and it stuck. Suddenly, as what he had said registered, Castiel’s face was no longer that of a predator - he was full of concern now, backtracking. “Dean I- I’m so sorry. I didn’t-”

Dean’s face crumpled, and then he looked down, face blank as something broke in his eyes. “Just forget it,” he muttered, pushing past Cas, “I’ll see you in 3 days.”

And with that, Dean walked to the rendezvous point to meet the rest of the group. Cas went to follow him, but Ellen caught his arm. “Trust me sweetie, what you boys need is a little bit of space.”

Cas watched solemnly as Dean walked out of the gates, and didn’t look back.


	12. Run

It didn’t take long for Dean to slip into a routine - look left, look right, look back, look forward. He felt like he was going to get dizzy from it, but John was walking along beside him, carrying out the same action, and Dean couldn’t fail. Not in front of him. The horizon stretched grey and clear into the distance, the monstrous figures of mountains like the shadows of giants on the horizon, and the last stretches of city streets trailed around them.

It had been a day since he left, a day since he last saw Sam and Cas, and a day of nonstop worrying over what might have happened to them while he was gone. They hadn’t even known each other for a year yet, but suddenly not being with the other two sent alarm bells howling in Dean’s head. Something was going to go wrong - he could feel it.

As the tell-tale cold sting of rain pattered onto Dean’s face, he looked up to the sky. The clouds were a liquid, murky grey, the heavens opening as rain started to pour in abundance. It made slightly dark spots on the shoulders of Dean’s father’s jacket - John’s jacket. Dean was just glad that he hadn’t recognised it yet. As silvery-grey rain, shining cold in the dull sun, pattered around them, he glanced around at the other two people with them – Jo and Ellen, faces dark, eyes fixed on the horizon.

Suddenly, as they rounded a corner, John spotted something sprayed messily onto a wall to their right. Eyes widening, he grabbed Dean roughly by the arm and pulled him back around the corner, Ellen and Jo slipping into the shadows without prompting. John and Ellen shared a meaningful look.

“We’ve come too far,” John muttered, “much further and we’ll be in _their_ territory. Let’s move.”

“Wait, what?!” Dean asked loudly, only to receive a smack over the head and a ‘shh’ from the older man. “But we only just got here!” he continued more quietly, as John peaked around the corner and scanned their surroundings. “Why are we leaving?”

“Don’t ask questions.” John fixed Dean with a level stare. “I think you’re forgetting who the leader here is, ‘ _Dean’_. If that even is your name.”

They pair locked stares for a second more, before John looked away. “Let’s get back to camp, team.”

**0o0o0**

**Sam.**

Another shudder ripped through his body, and he convulsed and rolled off the bed onto the hard floor with a strangled cry. His vision blurred and his mind burned with blinding, white pain. An uncontrollable madness shook his soul and he tore himself free from the blankets that contained his feverish heat and stumbled towards the blurry shape in the corner.

“Sam? Sam, what’s going on?” echoed a far-away voice, almost unheard over the violent ringing splitting his skull. Another voice spoke, though; perfectly clear.

“Do you want the pain to stop Sammy?” soothed Luci, a malevolent grin twisting his features. “You know what you have to do…” he whispered in Sam’s ear. Sam gritted his teeth and screamed, as somewhere, a door slammed open and people suddenly surrounded him, voices barely stabbing through the agony that bound his senses.

Abruptly, the fog lifted, replaced by a determined kind of insanity.

——

Cas sat up in bed, concern and confusion riddling his exhausted mind. Sam was walking towards him with a shuffling, lopsided gait. In the dim light of the early morning sun, Cas saw white fluid dripping from Sam’s eyes, ears and nose. He froze.

This couldn’t be happening now. Not when Dean wasn’t here.

“Sam, listen to me,” he demanded firmly, standing up and putting up his hands to stave off the advancing threat. “I want to help you, but you’ve got to try and get control here, even a little.”

Pain, guilt and fear flashed across the boys milky eyes before they glazed over and Sam was lost. Cas reached timidly for his knife. This wasn’t how it ended. It wasn’t supposed to end with Dean gone and alone, Sam too far past gone and Cas left alone with a child’s blood on his hands.

He put down the knife, a single tear spilling from his eye. “It’s okay, Sam, I know it’s not you. I’m not going to hurt you and I’m not going to leave you.” Cas stared into the creatures blank eyes and for a moment it seemed like it registered something.

But then, it all happened so fast. Someone knocked on the door. Bobby walked in. Sam lunged at him. Cas threw himself on top of the frail teen; they went down, and the world turned black.

——

Sam felt like he was possessed - a force that was not his own moved his limbs, drove his thoughts; yet he felt his own pain.

He felt the emotional pain when he saw Cas’ terror, when Bobby walked in and saw the closest thing he had to a son try to rip his throat out, when he realized he might never see Dean again. He felt physical pain as Cas slammed into his body, as Bobby twisted his arms away from Cas’ face when he tried to claw at the unconscious man, as he was slammed in the head with the book Bobby had come give Sam. He felt the mental pain as he writhed in anguish in his restraints, his mind and body trying to break free of that which bound them.

And he felt the worst pain, the unnameable, immeasurable pain, when Jess rushed into the room with tear stained cheeks to see that a monster had replaced Sam. He tried to tell her that this wasn’t him, that he loved her, that he didn’t want her to see him like this. But all that came out was a guttural, bestial, scream.

——

Cas looked as the quivering creature on the mental gurney and his heart broke, not just for Sam, but for Dean too. Both so alone, in so much pain, trapped in the shadowlands of their own minds. He reached out and took one of the creature’s hands, its chest heaving as it fixed a pale, soulless eye on Cas. It couldn’t turn its head in the restraints, but it was best that way, it had tried to knock itself out by slamming its head repeatedly on the metal surface after Jess came in. She had to be dragged away screaming, and the creature was sedated and more restraints were added. It had to be kept undamaged until they got Sam back

Cas drew the chair closer to the gurney and sat down, still clutching the sweaty, writhing hand in his own. He had just lost Dean, he couldn’t lose Sam too. Or at least what was left of him. He ducked his head, blinking away the sting of tears that threatened to cascade in a torrent down his unshaven face. Sam looked like death, his cheeks sallow, his eyes sunken, his clothing, damp with sweat, clinging to his pale skin and showing just how prominent his bones really were. Had Cas been so inclined, he could have counted each of Sam’s 24 ribs, one by one.

In a world where Castiel cared about nothing, loved nobody and only cared for the stars and planets and galaxies so much bigger than himself, his whole universe suddenly revolved around two men, one more of a child than a man, and whether they lived or died.

**0o0o0**

Dean walked in through the heavy iron gates at the West side of the compound. Having time to calm down and being stuck with strangers and his oblivious father for three days had given him a whole new appreciation for Cas and Sam. A broad grin swept across his face as he imagined seeing them again.

However, as soon as he stepped foot in the compound, he knew something was wrong. It was too quiet, too empty. The few people that were around refused to look him in the eyes, ducking their heads or just simply walking away.

John picked up on it too and he stalked over to the nearest citizen. “What the hell happened here while we were gone?!” he demanded in a gruff tone. The middle-aged woman didn’t reply, but her gaze drifted to the large building to their left. Dean and John raced shoulder to shoulder to the door, leaving Jo and Ellen standing bewildered at the gate.

They pushed through the door and came to a shuddering halt. Dean’s mind could hardly process the images in front of him. Cas was gaping at him with anguish-filled blue eyes, ringed with red and shadowed with sleep deprivation. Sam was strapped to a table, his hair as white as snow, his eyes closed. Milky fluid dripped down Sam’s neck, oozing from the corners of the muzzle that held his head in place. IV bags surrounded the table, if Dean had to guess he’s say pain killers, sedatives and fluids. Anything to ease the kid’s passing.

Dean’s knees gave out underneath him and he hit the floor. Castiel was out of his seat in a heartbeat, pulling Dean into a tight hug as the man stared at Sam. The realisation hit Dean like a bullet. That distant moment, the day so far in the future when Sam’s illness finally got too bad, was here. He was too far gone.

John cleared his throat, and Dean quietened, shakes wracking his body and breathes coming out raged and broken. “Son,” started John in a clinical voice, “I think it’s time to end this. To put it out of it’s misery.”

Dean saw red, wrenching himself from Cas’ arms and squaring up to John. “He’s not an ‘it’ you son of a bitch! He’s my brother! He’s my _family_!!” The last word was cold, calculated and dripping with emphasis. Still, John didn’t realize, but anger coloured his features.

“Look here you insolent little brat! No one talks to me like that in my compound! Step back or I’ll put down you and your ‘brother’,” spat John, his eyes narrowing as he regarded the boy on the table.

For a minute, it looked like Dean was going to throw a punch, but at that moment Bobby burst through the door. His eyes widened at the scene in front of him. Dean and John were nose to nose, Cas was still sitting on the floor and the steady drip of the fluid in and out of Sam set a patient metronome for the awkward seconds that ensued.

“I… Uh… I just wanted to let you know that I might know something that could help Sam,” he croaked. Cas pushed himself from the ground and walked over to Bobby, grabbing Dean’s hand and dragging him with him.

“Anything, anything at all. We’ll do it,” rushed out Cas, Dean nodding fervently beside him with his jaw set tightly in determination.

“Right, well then,” Bobby nodded as he cleared his throat. “There’s a rumor that there’s a way to cure-“

John laughed cruelly. "That’s a story made up to keep the weak and frightened sheep in line. There’s no truth to it, surely you of all people know that.”

Bobby stiffened and turned purposefully so that he was facing Sam and Dean with his back to John, who sighed and leaned against the wall. “-And it’s said,” he continued, “that the maker can be found a couple of towns over. I’d slow you down if I went with you, and you don’t have much time left.”

He glanced over at Sam sadly before setting a resolute scowl on his face and turning back to the men in front of him. “But I can draw you a map.”

Dean didn’t know what to do. If he left, Sammy could die before he got back. There might not even be a cure. Dean might not even make it back. His head was swimming and he’s legs were shaking. Cas wrapped an arm around him, and Dean sank back into him.

John huffed in distain. “If you would all quite your daydreaming and whining, we could take care of this like men and get this thing done with before it gets any worse. You know who whines? Babies.”

This time it was Cas who squared up to John. And this time John did get punched.

**0o0o0**

Dean stormed out of the shelter, running a shaking hand through his hair and leaving an unconscious Sam, a shocked Bobby and a bleeding John in the room. Cas stepped through the doorway and eased the door shut behind him. The tears that Dean had tried too hard to hide ran free in front of Cas, carving weaving paths through the dust that coated him head to toe.

“What do I- I don’t-” Dean made a small chocked sound and sat down on his haunches, staring up at Cas with broken, swimming, emerald eyes. “Tell me what to do. I don’t know what to do.” Dean’s voice cracked, and Cas’ heart broke.

“You need to go,” he urged, “You need to find this man and you need to bring the cure back to Sam.”

Dean, stood up suddenly. “You want me to leave?!” he demanded incredulously, “Less than a week ago you flipped out because I wanted to leave!” Cas was shocked for a second, taken aback, before he gave a small snarl. There he was again – _that_ Castiel.

“For God’s sake Dean! That was you running away! This is Sam’s life we’re talking about!” He spoke slowly and emphatically, trying not to shout. Tensions were already high, there was no need to escalate it.

Dean didn’t seem to share the same sentiment. “If I leave now, he might be dead when I come back! This might be a wild goose chase! Sammy’s life is the ONLY thing I am thinking about!” he roared at Cas, towering over the man. “And if I do go, which I’m not saying I am, like Hell am I leaving you and Sam here. I won’t let him die in some prison camp! And you- Well I can’t leave you either.” Dean took a step back from Cas.

“Why?” whispered Cas, “Why can’t you leave me?”

Dean shook his head, “Let it go, Cas.”

Cas refused; he took a step towards Dean, crowding into his personal space. “Tell me you petulant child, you have to stop running from anything you’re too weak to handle at some point. You might as well start now.” The insult was a sharp lash against Dean’s pride, and hurt filled his eyes.

“Because I’m in love with you, you ass!” he screeched in frustration, turning on his heels and walking towards the nearest wire fence. He threaded his fingers through the wire mesh and stared at the ground, his back to Cas.

Cas was frozen, gawking at the space where Dean had been, his mind going at a million miles an hour. He stalked over to Dean and grabbed his shoulder, slamming Dean’s back against the chain-link fence. A look of fear flickered across Dean’s face, his mouth parted slightly in shock. Castiel did the only rational thing you could do in this situation - he kissed him.

It was a soft kiss at first, earning a small squeak of surprise, but it deepened as the stress, fear and pain melted away, replaced only by them. Only them, only now, only this kiss. It seemed like time had stopped, trapped in their own little pocket of reality as their lips touched.

A loud cough sounded from behind Cas and he turned to see Bobby, slightly embarrassed, standing behind them. “You argue very loudly…” he said lamely, feeling the need to justify his interruption. He continued, his tone strong yet gentle, “I’ll help Cas look after the boy, you go.” He gave Dean a pained look, “Please trust me, you’ll regret it if you don’t.”

The weight of the confession was heavy in the air as Bobby walked away. Dean turned to Cas, his features set.

“I’ll do it, I’ll go.” He vowed, “I’ll save Sammy.”


	13. Massacre

Dean’s feet pounded on the ground like war drums as the city blurred past around him. Lungs screaming with effort, fists clenched so tightly he thought his fingernails might draw blood, he squeezed his eyes closed, choking back blurriness as his eyes stung with grief.

Every breath he took, every sound of his footsteps ringing through the ghost city, was Sam’s last chance. If he failed now, the kid who was now his little brother in every way but blood, was gone. A few scratchy letters in Castiel’s journal, a lock of patchy, white hair, and nothing more.

Shooting occasional quick glances to the map, Dean ran and ran until the city started to melt around him. The once-colourful shop fronts, now cracked and cold, were soon overtaken by identical lines of terraced houses, windows cracked, dripping with rotting ivy. The map was now merely lines, useless, and Dean was running up and down streets, searching madly for-

 _There_. The symbol from earlier, paint cracked but bright, was sprayed onto a wall a few metres ahead of him. Dean sprinted towards it, and as he reached it and looked to his left- there was another one. As he followed the symbols they were suddenly everywhere – more and more at every turn as they led him into what looked like an industrial estate. White-coated walls, almost like plastic, were coated in watery, green grime, and Dean cursed himself in retrospect for not hearing the footsteps-

A strong, rough body slammed Dean against the wall – his head hit the bricks with a sickening ‘ _crack’_. As blood, thick and sticky, started to trickle down the side of his face, Dean raised his head weakly to meet the eyes of his attacker.

The man’s face was set-jawed, smirking down at Dean as his fixed his hands around his neck, and Dean knew that he had failed. Sammy was going to die, Cas was going to hate him, he was going to be stabbed in the heart right here and now by this man, and-

“ _Balthazar_! Damnitt, we need to work on your social skills!”

On reflex, or perhaps it was out of shock, the man’s hand tightened around Dean’s neck. Clawing madly at it, Dean’s vision started to slowly seize at the corners until something not unlike a whine escaped the throat of his attacker. “Dad! He’s trespassing-“

“And he looks even younger than you, Balthazar Shurley, so let him go.”

Shockingly, the man released Dean’s neck in half a second, looking a little sheepish. Dean slid down the wall, face still wet with blood, as another man knelt in front of him.

This man was the opposite of the first. He was wearing a grabby, scuffed labcoat, and underneath that, he looked surprisingly scrawny. A scruffy beard, greying brown hair and baby blue eyes made him look strangely nonthreatening, but Dean flattened himself against the wall anyway.

“Who- who are you?!” he asked through gritted teeth, pressing his sleeve against the gash on the side of his head that had now started to drip scarlet down his neck. “Chuck Shurley?!”

The man tilted his head to the side slightly, a motion not unlike Castiel, and Dean’s pulse gave a throb through his veins. “Please, I’m not here to hurt you, but my little brother is sick – half gone – and we heard that you have a-!”

“A cure…” the blue-eyed man interrupted, pinning Dean with a measuring stare. A few moments passed, the cold of the wall at his back causing small shivers to rip through Dean’s frame, before the man nodded, standing up and offering Dean a hand.

As Dean stood, he wobbled precariously, pain from the wound on the side of his head stabbing through his senses before he slumped bonelessly against the lab-coated man. Grunting with surprise but holding his weight surprisingly well, the man glared across at his companion. “Concussion. I knew we had to get you checked out for violence issues…”

“Dad!” For a second, the more menacing of the two even sounded a little childish.

“That’s ‘Chuck’ when we’re working, Balthazar.”

“Fuck that!”

“Watch your language!”

Dean suddenly had a lot more faith in receiving help from these two; because their tones and eyes were just like his and Sammy’s when they bickered.

**0o0o0**

**Castiel.**

A rasping gasp of breath tore through the frail frame in front of Cas, the force and effort of the action raising Sam’s back off the cold metal table. The breath hitched and then alarmingly stopped, causing Cas to leap out of his seat to Sam’s side.

“Sam?! SAM! Can you hear me?” Cas was only met with a wide eyed, tight-throated, frightened creature, whose muscles were so tight that they were bulging on its neck and forcing it’s body into stiff, rigid, uncomfortable positions under the restraints. “HELP! HELP US PLEASE!!!” screamed the man, his voice hoarse with fear, but no one came.

Cas didn’t know what to do. He couldn’t work with Sam tied up like this, and it was only going to make Sam’s condition worse. He worked quickly, undoing all of the buckles that held Sam down, finishing with the mask over his face. For a second it looked like it was over, like he was fine. His breathing evened out and his body stilled. Quiet, sleeping, peaceful.

Until he wasn’t.

The creature sat bolt upright. It wore Sam’s face, but the eyes were its own. Cas backed away; if he screamed he might enrage it, if he stayed silent he would be trapped here with it for God knew how long.

The creature cocked its head to the side, staring at Cas with a vacant expression. It advanced slowly, almost as if it were cautious, unsure. Cas threw caution to the wind and decided it was worth a shot. He tried to talk to it.

“Sa-Sam? Are you in there, kid?”

The creature turned it’s head to the other side, seemingly studying Cas before it pulled it’s lips into a snarling grimace and lunged at Cas. Cas didn’t have time to react and the last thing he remembered was hearing someone scream as the creature sank it’s teeth into his neck. Maybe the scream came from his own mouth, he was too preoccupied by the blood and blackness that swam across his eyes to pay much attention.

**0o0o0**

**Sam.**

_‘NO!_ ’ screamed a voice at the back of his burning mind as he lunged at the quivering flesh in front of him, as he felt the blood run down his chin, as he saw it’s eyes flicker shut. _'Friend’_ echoed the tinny, incoherent voice. But it was so quiet, and it was easily drowned out.

“Well done Sammy,” crooned a venomous voice beside him. Despite the fact that the entire world was swirling and shifting like a mirage, Lucifer was as clear as ever. “Didn’t I tell you that if you just said yes the pain would stop?” he simpered in a sickly sweet voice. _'It still hurts’_ he thought, _'you lied_.’

Sam heard a low whimpering growl where there should have been words, but Luci seemed to understand. “You just need to do it again, then you’ll feel better. I promise. Have I ever lied to you?” he quizzed, mock pain painting his features as he spoke. Sam didn’t know the answer to that, Sam didn’t care, because Sam wasn’t Sam. The little voice screamed, trapped inside itself, a mere passenger in a hijacked vessel. Sam - the real Sam - watched in horror as the world so far away fell apart in front of him.

After a couple of attempts, Sam’s body managed to open the door to the compound outside. Everything was so loud, the wind roared like an untamed beast though it barely ruffled the grass, the few voices floating around were like a hornets nest in Sam’s head. And then there was the scream.

High-pitched, piercing and painful screech ripped through Sam’s eardrums when a middle aged woman saw his monstrous appearance. Sam recognized her, she had talked to Sam a lot since she had lost her own son before she got here. She was nice, harmless, innocent, and Sam didn’t care. His legs dragged him forward, his illness ready to sate this thirst and dull this pain, and soon she was on the ground. People scattered in all directions, adding their screams to the chorus of pain in Sam’s mind.

He stumbled after the nearest source, his lips pulling themselves back in reflex, ready to tear out the screamer’s vocal cords and bring silence to his ringing ears. From the constraints of his mind Sam watched in horror. In an attempt to escape the monster inside their walls the citizens had tried to flee, flinging open the gates to allow free exit. But all they did was let a whole host of new monsters in. They should have known better than to make so much noise. They should have known better than to open the gates without checking that they were clear. They should have known better than to let more infected in.

It was chaos, an absolute massacre. It made Sam’s heart beat uncontrollably, but whether that was from his own fear, the disease’s excitement or just the infection itself taking its toll on his body, Sam didn’t know. He stumbled around the crowd, weaving from person to person as he scratched and clawed at any flesh he could get his hands on, but then he heard a scream.

It wasn’t like the others. It didn’t add to the fog - it cut right through it. It was small and scared and high pitched. A child was screaming. Sam turned to see a teary-eyed Adam backing away from an infected, cut off from the rest of the people, alone and vulnerable.

Something like a landmine, deep in Sam’s mind, snapped.

Sam used every ounce of strength he had and he wrenched his consciousness to the forefront of his mind and flung himself between Adam and the threat. Killing this thing was different, white fluid spilled from it instead of red, pride filled his chest instead of guilt and the disease roared in anguish as the white fluid pooled around Sam’s feet. A thunder of footsteps echoed in Sam’s right ear and he whipped round to see Bobby grab Adam off the ground and set off running towards the furthest gate in the compound. Away from the threat, Sam and his infected brethren.

Sam hobbled towards the front gate, only stopping to kill a few infected that got to close. He didn’t know where he was going apart from into the city, but he knew somewhere in the back of his mind that Dean was out there. Wandering alone through an alley, the echoing screams of a dying city reverberating through the densely built concrete jungle, Sam had but a single thought.

Dean had promised to drop Sam without hesitation when he was past gone, and Sam was past the point of no return.

“Oh don’t be like that Sammy!” exclaimed Lucifer, “I’m not going anywhere.”


	14. Light Flare

**Dean.**

They didn’t even get past the final mile mark before it was clear that something was very, very wrong. People were travelling in droves away from the camp. Most were wounded; some carried injured family members and friends. One man even appeared to be carrying his wife’s dead body. Horrified, Dean set into a sprint, wind screaming against his face. Balthazar and Chuck were left shocked, staring from the crowds to the disappearing figure that was sprinting towards the epicentre.

Dean was at the gate when the burly stranger threw him to the ground. He huffed from the sudden change in momentum and the rough impact as the man smashed him into the ground. Bruises already forming from his meeting with Balthazar earlier burst into renewed pain, and the green-eyed man groaned in pain.

“Frank! What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” bellowed a dishevelled Bobby from just inside the gate, a frightened Adam clutching his leg. At least they were alive. Dean turned his head and glared at the man towering over him.

“He’s the bastard that brought that filthy freak here in the first place! My wife is dead because of him!” Frank jabbed his thick, sausage-like finger at Dean to punctuate the final word.

 _Oh God_ , Dean’s heart faltered, _Sam_. He was too late. He scrambled to his feet.

“Where is he? Where’s Sammy?” he choked out.

“He’s gone son, took off when the other infected showed up. Took down a hell of a lot of them on his way out, let me tell you,” Bobby explained with a conflicted look. He had a gash on his forehead but seemed okay apart from that.

“Really?” choked out Dean, “He-he took down infected? Not people?”

Bobby’s face twisted. “He took a turn half way through the chaos, I mean, he saved Adam’s life!” The older man ruffled the child’s hair absently. “But… at the beginning…” Dean looked away; he didn’t need to hear this. “Dean, it wasn’t him, he didn’t- he didn’t do this. But Cas-”

Dean whipped around to look at Bobby, whose eyes were soft and sympathetic. “He’s hurt real bad, Dean.”

Dean didn’t need to know anything else at the moment. He looked Bobby dead in the eye, and with the steadiest tone he could muster, he demanded, "Take me to him.”

Bobby nodded, picking up Adam and walking apprehensively towards the building where Sam had been being kept. The place where it all started, or maybe the place where it all ended.

**0o0o0**

Silently grinning, the man on the roof folded himself further into the shadows. He had no idea what had stirred up the infected ravishing the streets – maybe that camp in the south of the city, who knew? – but he couldn’t find himself caring. A makeshift slingshot and a pile of pebbles were his only companions, mischievous gold-brown eyes fixed on a particularly stupid-looking infected stumbling around mindlessly below him. Every time a pebble hit it, it jerked and screeched comically, and stumbled drunkenly for a few seconds before going back to its wobbling path up the street.

In the street bellow, browning weeds broke through the cracks in the concrete slabs. The road was beaten and full of potholes – a result of that first rush of panic to get out of the city back when it all began – and apart from the sounds of the infected in the distance, and the occasional ‘snap’ of his slingshot, the streets were silent.

Eventually, however, the man’s entertainment wandered off. Standing and stretching, face turned towards the early summer sun, Gabriel was about to slide down off the roof when another infected, all gangly, thin limbs and sickly-white skin, hair and eyes, skidded around the corner and into the street. Gabriel slipped back into the shadows at easily as if he had never left them, eyes narrowing dangerously as he traced its path along the pavement.

This one was tall – maybe a recently turned half-gone – body intact, eyes entirely white, gaze on the sky as he sniffed the air madly. Panting and snarling, more beast than human now, he looked like the first real threat Gabe had seen in a while – and when he turned around to face the Gabriel, something like a hallucination seemed to take over him. A flash of humanity seemed to overtake the darkness in his eyes as he cowered away from something on the ground, something that obviously was only there in his head.

Gabriel’s heart went out to the kid, it really did, but he was past the point of no return now. Raising his weapon, this time a handgun with a silencer, the man narrowed his eyes and took aim. Sure, the braindead infected were harmless, but this one…

Suddenly, it clicked.

_Sam._

**0o0o0**

He looked so peaceful. Ellen had taken the time to lay him out on the table Sam had used to be strapped too, had washed his wounds and given him a beaten old IV like Sam had had. But Cas didn’t need the restraints that had bound Sam. He wasn’t moving. For a second Dean thought he was dead, until he saw his chest rise as a shallow breath passed through his pale lips. Ellen walked away from his bedside, leaving Jo to reapply the disinfectant to the wound on Cas’ neck. She walked over to Dean and took his hand in hers, sounding more like a therapist than his friend.

“He lost a lot of blood, but he’ll make a full recovery. He’s a fighter. He might even wake up soon.” She had meant it to be reassuring, but the weight behind the ‘ _might’_ didn’t go unnoticed.

Dean walked tentatively over to Cas and took his hand in his. It was so cold, the usual rough warmth seemed to have drained from grasp. A tear slid silently down Dean’s cheek and splashed onto Cas’ wrist.

“Please,” whispered Dean. “I can’t lose both of you.”

No sooner than the words had passed between Dean’s lips had Cas given Dean’s hand a feeble squeeze. His eyes fluttered open and met Dean’s shocked, tear-stained face.

“I’m not going anywhere,” he croaked.

“Well _we_ are,“ piped up a British voice from the doorway. "Bobby has informed us that Sam has done a runner, so I guess we should try and find him and get him the cure, perfect test subject for the cure he is. Though we’d have more luck trying to unsink the Titanic.”

Chuck sighed and shook his head. “For God’s sake Balthazar! Empathy!” He turned to face Dean and Cas. “We’ll give you some time with your boyfriend, Dean, and then if you want to find Sam we need to go soon; before he gets too far.” He gave a curt nod and pushed Balthazar out the door.

“Hear that Dean?” croaked Cas, “I’m your boyfriend!” He giggled hoarsely and Dean turned and gave Jo a very concerned look, convinced that Cas was having some sort of mental breakdown.

“Pain meds,” she explained, turning on her heel to leave.

“Wait!” groaned Cas, whole demeanour changing in a second, rolling off the metal table onto Dean and ripping the IV out of his arm. “How long ‘till this stuff wears off?” Dean tried to push him back onto the table, ending up in a tangle of limbs with Cas hanging off his waist and looking at Jo expectantly.

“Uh,” she said, looking from Dean’s death glare to Cas’ puppy dog eyes. “An hour? Maybe two?” she ventured cautiously as she backed out of the room, wary of the argument about to start.

“So it’s settled then,” slurred Cas in a matter of fact tone, “I’m coming with you to find Sam.”

Dean pushed him back onto the table with enough force that he couldn’t resist, but enough tenderness that he wasn’t hurt. “Like hell you are!” Dean shouted disparagingly. “You almost died! And- and now what? You want to go on a suicide mission to find the thing that put you there?”

Cas was shocked into silence. “It’s Sam, Dean. It’s our Sammy. He’s one of us. He’s family. Of course, we’re going to go find him.” His quiet tone was thick with sorrow and disbelief.

Dean shook his head. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said it like that. Sam didn’t attack you. Sam is the one who killed a group of infected to save my half-brother. Sam is the one who we’re going to find and cure. Sam is the one who is going to bake me a fucking pie to say thank you once I’ve saved his sorry ass.”

Cas stood up unsteadily and threw his arms around Dean. “I see through your jokes you big softy. Now find my shoes, I’m coming whether you like it or not.” Dean wrapped his arms around Cas to steady him, and to steady himself, even if it was in a different way.

**—–**

A few minute later Dean emerged from the building with his arm around Cas’ waist to support him.

“Dean, not to be rude, but are sure you want to bring him? He’s injured, he’ll slow us down and do himself more damage,” queried Chuck. Before Dean could answer, Cas butted in.

“Dean doesn’t have a choice and he knows it. Either we go together and he can support me and look out for me, or I crawl after you. He wisely went for option A”. Chuck nodded and turned to lead the party out of the compound – Balthzar coughed ( **1** ), bringing up the rear and letting Cas and Dean stand in the middle of the group.

“Let’s go unsink the Titanic,“ muttered Balthazar in annoyance.

**0o0o0**

She watched from afar, following the group as they traced that diseased monster’s trail. What was Dean thinking, taking _her_ Cas into danger like this?

It didn’t matter, that idiotic mouth breather wouldn’t be breathing soon enough.

They stopped at a bush and inspected something red and white on the leaves, muttering between each other before turning sideways towards the mouth of the forest. _Wonderful_ , thought Meg, _they_ _were finally out of the open_.

She padded silently into the forest, gliding through the underbrush and scaling a nearby tree to gain a better vantage point nearer the group. Her baseball bat was clutched tightly in her hand.

”- it’s not going to happen!” Dean’s voice cut through the sleepy forest and reached her where she was perched. “I’m not leaving Cas alone!” _Oh_ , thought Meg with a vile grin twisting her lips, _this sounded promising_.

“He won’t be alone!” retorted the stranger with the thick British accent, “He’ll be with us. You’ll be alone.”

Less promising. But hey, even if she couldn’t get to Cas, she could always take out the competition. She spun the baseball bat expertly with her free hand and grinned at Dean with a sadistic glint in her eyes. This was going to be fun.

**0o0o0**

Dean huffed in annoyance as he trudged along one of the two possible trails they had identified. He been walking for less than 5 minutes when he heard a sudden rustle of leaves and a dull thud as something heavy hit the ground behind him. He whipped around to see a black-haired woman staring back at him with a heavy bat in her hands. Slowly, she gave a wide and toothy grin that sent shivers through him.

“Dean!” screamed a voice from behind the thick forestry to his left, “get away from her!” He turned back to look at the woman, who was now wearing a full-on vicious, bloodthirsty grin. Dean only had a second to twist and shout for Cas to run before she swung her bat and the world was engulfed in shadows.

**0o0o0**

“You okay there, Dean-o?” asked an unfamiliar and chirpy voice. Dean stared at the figure looming over him through his blurry, unfocused eyes. “You’re lucky I was in the area or that chick would have ended you.” The figure chuckled and slid slowly into focus, extending a hand to help him up as Cas burst through the bracken. Whether it was the blood loss or the panic, Cas was extremely pale.

“Whoa! You alright there, brother?” asked the maybe-not-so-stranger.

“Gabriel?” squeaked Cas, staring at the man wide-eyed. “B-But, Meg?” he stuttered, his eyes soon falling on the unconscious figure on the ground. “Dean?”

“I’m fine, Cas. I just-” he replied, but was cut off by a ferocious roar.

“Sam,” chorused the three men, sprinting towards the source of the noise leaving an unconscious Meg to be stumbled upon by an extremely confused Chuck and a mildly amused Balthazar. Cas, Dean and Gabe ran for what felt like hours, before they burst into a clearing to see Sam on his knees with his back to the group. His patchy-white hair was slick with red and white blood alike. They stood still for a second; afraid to disturb him in case it triggered an episode.

A minute passed and Chuck and Balthazar appeared by their side. They looked between Sam and the group, before Chuck leaned in and whispered, "We assumed that the girl was unconscious for a reason, so we tied her to a tree.”

“Yeah, okay,” murmured Dean, slowly inching towards Sam, Cas’ hand gripped tightly in his own. He was about a meter away from Sam when he turned around. His pale milky eyes leaked from the corners as he cocked his head to look at Cas. Anguish – raw, real, human anguish – filled his eyes.

“You’re dead.” His voice shook. “This isn’t real. I killed you. _YOU’RE DEAD!”_ he screamed, standing up and staring at Cas, his whole body tense and shaking.

He took a step forward, but whether he was actually going to hurt Cas would never be known, because at that moment he was tackled to the ground by Balthazar.

“This is for your own good, kid!” he mumbled as he jammed the needle into Sam’s leg. Sammy screamed and writhed under Balthazar, but soon went still.

Too still.

“Sammy?”

Silence.

“Sam? No, no, no, no, no! Sammy?!”

Dean’s voice rose, so loud that Chuck flinched and birds scattered from the treetops around them.

“ ** _SAM!!_** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) *cough*wHIPPED*cough*
> 
> Please leave a comment! Any scrap of feedback really helps us :)


	15. Life as We Know It

**Team Free Will.**

Balthazar shook Sam’s shoulders, a panic stricken look etched on his face. Dean pushed him out of the way with an uncharacteristic yelp of panic, and pulled Sam’s limp body into his lap. Cas wasn’t far behind him, practically collapsing next to the pair; whether from blood loss or shock, nobody knew.

“I thought it would work! I really thought it wo-!” rushed Balthazar, but Dean cut in in a choked voice.

“Shut up! Just- just shut up…!” He pulled Sam’s body tighter into his own and folded himself around him. “I’m so sorry Sammy.” A few seconds passed – Dean burying his face in Sam’s white-tinged hair as he shook. Castiel’s head was down, hand clamped around Dean’s as he stared, horror and grief clear on his face, at the ground. Sam's hands were stiff and unmoving, his body rigid and cold and all of the life that had once surrounded him gone without a trace. He was _their_ little brother, and now it was over.

Suddenly, Sam’s body went rigid and a gasp rippled through him before his muscles relaxed and he lay gasping and panting in Dean’s arms. His eyes flicked open, and he looked up at Dean in shock – with green-brown eyes without even a pale tint of infection. Milky fluid was still crusted around his face, but he was _alive._

“Dean?” he asked in a small, weak voice. “I hurt them… I-I killed people. Dean, I killed him, Dean I kill-” he choked and stuttered and looked like he was about to vomit.

“Sam, I’m fine. I’m right here,” soothed Cas, crouching down so that Sam could see him, but it didn’t help.

“No, no, no. Not real,” he mumbled, turning into Dean’s chest.

Dean realized he was holding his breath, and let out a large huff as he looked down at Sam. He was alive. He was cured. Dean pulled him into the upright position, and Sam looked between Dean and Cas with tears in his eyes.

“Am I dead?” he said, with a hint of hope in his voice. “You’re both dead and you’re here, so I must be dead. This must be Heaven if both of you are here and aren’t trying to kill me. Even the disease is gone.”

A watery smile cracked Sam’s face and Dean pulled him into another crushing hug. “You’re alive, Sam. We all are. And you’re cured now, you’re better, and we’re all going to get you home,” he grumbled into the top of Sam’s head.

“Wait…all of you?” Sam looked around at the faces looking down at him; Dean, happy and protective, Cas relieved but worryingly pale, a dark-eyed stranger, shocked and gaping, a brown-eyed stranger was calm and smiling and…

And _Gabriel_.

“Hey there, kiddo,” he said with a lopsided smile. “Long time no see.”

Sam pushed himself shakily from Dean’s lap and tried to make his way over to Gabe and the older man strode over to close the distance and pulled Sam into his own bone crushing hug. “I’m sorry I left you kid, I thought it was for the best.” Tears chocked Gabriel’s normally chipper tone. “And now, I’ve found you and my little brother met, and you got with this idiot!” Gabe gestured to Dean. His voice broke, but happiness bled through his tears

Sam wrapped his arms around the older man’s waist and mumbled, “You’re here now,” into his shoulder.

Dean stood up and walked over to Sam and Gabe, leaving Cas to pick a shell-shocked Balthazar of the ground. “How about we all go home then?” asked Dean, clapping Gabriel on the back.

"What about the girl?” asked Chuck, and Dean turned to him with a slightly vicious grin.

“Well if you feel apprehensive about leaving her on her own, I’ll gladly slit her throat for you.”

**0o0o0**

In a word, life was good. Sure, it was the end of times and end of days, but at least they were going out as a family. The summer passed in a hazy song of rustling, long grasses and yellow evening rays of sunlight, and slowly but surely, Sam healed. His nights were filled with the image of Castiel falling to the ground, of the taste of his blood under his teeth and the scrape of gravel under bloody hands, but when he woke up, Dean was there, and that was enough.

Meeting both his real brother and adoptive brother was enough of a shock to convince Gabe to stay – for a while, at least. He was a wanderer – a traveller above all else – but maybe his brothers’ happiness could convince him to stay for just a little while longer, until Sam was confirmed to be right as rain once more.

Cas and Dean stayed attached at the hip for weeks after Castiel was healed (even though Dean didn’t need to practically carry the other around anymore), and there wasn’t a dirty little secret anymore. As the residents of the camp slowly returned, bruised and battered but craving home, Cas and Dean’s rather unique relationship was the very least of their worries. Sam would’ve been kicked out – maybe even killed – if not for the ‘Sammy Protection Squad’, as Chuck had dubbed it before he left.

Speaking of Chuck; he and Balthazar were now long gone. The man’s son let slip to Dean a few days after this event that the medicine given to Sam was simply a prototype – that really, they had no idea whether it would work or not. After a near-strangulation incident involving Castiel and his still weak but righteous anger, the father and son wisely moved on quite quickly.

Despite their assurances that they would visit every so often, Dean doubted that was true. They had moved out of their old base now, were off south to see who else they could cure, and even though Balthazar was an A+ Asshole, Dean knew that he and his father were doing a good thing.

As autumn, then winter and then spring rolled in, the long grasses around the camp browned and died, the ground becoming bare, before sprouting again, more green than before. Sam grew another inch, patches of white-patched hair falling out to be replaced by thick, floppy locks of brown hair that always covered his eyes. Dean himself didn’t change too much; he didn’t tell John who he was in the end, but he kept his jacket, and that was enough. All the rips and tears in Castiel’s trench coat were finally sewn together, and he spent a whole day without it to let Jess get her hands (and her sewing needle) on it.

More joined the camp as time passed. A young infected who burst into tears when Dean said he could heal her; he and the young redhead soon grew close, but not as close as she was to Jo ( **1** ). A young, Asian kid, shockingly loyal but generally quiet, who made fast friends with Castiel. A dark-haired woman, beautiful but hard to trust, who gave Sam a bad feeling (she only stayed for a few weeks before moving on). The family grew and grew, Jess and Sam eventually quit dancing around each other and got together, and Cas and Dean… Well, they were Cas and Dean. Dean and Cas. Nothing more needed to be said.

But as the hot, brown summer scorched through, the long grasses striking up a scratchy chorus, Dean started to take more scouting missions. Days and weeks melded and merged until time was nothing – every day the same, nothing changing, no adventure and no purpose. No _journey_. Dean slowly started to resent it – the cycle of days a hypnotic cycle that dizzied him to the point of frustration. He needed to get out.

Castiel, meanwhile, was a caged animal. Even now that he felt more human, now that he had a home, he was instinctively a mapper. An explorer, and a hunter, who hadn’t moved from one base for nearly two years. Even now that he was more of a housewife than a hunter, that instinct still boiled beneath the surface, and if he didn’t start moving soon, he thought he might go mad.

Sam, on the other hand, couldn’t be happier. Every day for him was brilliant – his eyes and skin and hair were no longer tinged with the milky-white of infection, Luci was long gone, and Dean and Cas were alive and well. He was in love, something that he never thought could ever happen to anybody like him, and he was part of a family, helping people and healing the infected. Gabe was here – even if it wasn’t forever - and life was amazing.

**0o0o0**

Cas and Dean finally addressed the elephant in the room as their second winter at the camp started to draw to a close. The last dregs of frost sprinkling the ground in front of him, Dean sat silently inside the main gate. His jacket – John’s jacket – sat around his shoulders, but didn’t do much to keep out the cold. Face pensive, he fiddled absently with the rifle at his side, and traced the slowly lightening horizon, looking thoughtful.

“Hello, Dean.”

The man, now nearly 24, flinched harshly, twisting around and glaring mildly at Castiel in the shadows. “Damnitt Cas, it’s been more than two years and you’re still doing that?!”

Giving a small chuckle, the other man sat down silently beside him, faithful trench coat soon wrapped around both of their shoulders. “I apologise, you just seemed a little lonely.”

The green-eyed man’s eyes softened. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Jess is with Sam tonight, so I should be catching up on sleep, but…” Cas gave a vague gesture.

Dean sighed. “Staying here for so long… it feels weird, doesn’t it? Like we should’ve moved on by now.”

“Sam seems to like it, at least.”

“But do you?”

It took Cas a moment to answer, and when he did, it was obvious that he was choosing his words carefully. “I don’t know why, but this is… it isn’t so good now that the novelty’s worn off, is it?”

Dean slung his arm around Castiel’s shoulders, face unreadable. “We both know that we have to move on sooner or later.” Dean laughed sadly. “You’ll go mad if we stay here much longer. So will I.”

“Dean… What about Sam? We both know he’ll follow us in a heartbeat but it’ll break his heart to leave!”

There was silence for a minute, unbroken by all but the soft, mournful rustling of the dead and bare trees around the small courtyard. Oh the horizon, a small shaft of greyish sunlight started to drip through the clouds as dawn approached.  

“We go on our own. At spring.” Dean’s voice was small. “He’ll be okay. Sammy grew up, huh? My kid brother grew up.” Even if John wasn’t Sam’s father, Sam was more of a brother to Dean than anybody had ever been. He would always be his little brother, even when Dean and Cas were long-gone.

**0o0o0**

**Springtime.**

Dean stared at the sleeping boy in front of him. A soft smile was etched on the face of the boy, more a young man now. Dean pulled the blanket over Sam so that it covered his shoulders, and backed slowly away, leaving Sam alone with his dreams of happy families, friends and home. _He’ll be fine_ , Dean assured himself, _he has Jessica and Jo - hell, he’s practically been adopted by Bobby and Ellen, and he’s basically a big brother himself now, to Adam_. He had his happy family and it wasn’t like he was never going to see Dean and Cas again. They would come back and visit, just maybe not for a while.

Cas stood patiently in the as he waited for Dean to say his goodbyes. Cas hadn’t had the heart to even go near his family for the past few days, afraid that seeing Gabriel and the others would just bring back all of the conflicted feelings he had tried to suppress. But Dean was right - if they stayed here they’d go insane, and it’s not like this was goodbye forever. Still…

Cas was pulled from his crisis when Dean stepped silently through the doorway, softening its momentum as it swung closed, so as not to wake Sam and Jess.

“You ready?” prompted Dean is a hoarse whisper.

Cas sighed, interlinking their fingers in the dark. “As I’ll ever be.”

Dean’s feet scuffed along the grass, sending sprays of mildew across the bottom of his trouser legs. Both he and Cas were silent, but whether it was for safety or because there were just no words wasn’t discernible. When they finally reached the wire fence, he pulled back the segment they had cut earlier and waited for Cas to crawl through. This was it.

Neither looked back as they started to trek through the moonlit streets, the dark caverns of blown-out shop fronts and broken windows glinting and winking through the dark at them. Tomorrow morning, Sam would wake up to find Dean and Cas gone, only a note left. He would threaten to slip into a depression, light starting to leave his eyes again, but Jess would get him through it.

Dean thought back to when he first met Sam - curled up behind a burned-out car, all elbows and knees and pin-thin limbs. Then, to meeting Castiel – a figure thrown from the darkness into their campfire with eyes like fire, as cold and deadly as ice. Three years had passed, each day a blessing just to still be breathing, each night filled with hope that the next day would arrive.

Team Free Will had had a good run, but everything had to come to an end at some point.

_This is it._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) Daaaaaamn, Charlie.
> 
> Only the epilogue left!


	16. Epilogue - Home

_Day 4199_

_Month 138_

_Year 12_

_Hello again, inanimate object._

_It’s been almost a year now, and we still haven’t gone back. I didn’t think that we would, despite D’s self-assurances of it, and we’ve only carried on moving further and further south – it would take months to go back now._

_It’s warming up again – this is a strangely humid March so far. Looking back, winter didn’t hit us that hard this year; but that may just be the surprisingly good haul of supplies we’ve been able to gather last autumn (see Inventory, final page). Infected activity is unusually high right now, and I know that I’m not the only one feeling ominous, but whatever may be going on, we can handle it. I’m sure of it. All this self-confidence is rather new, and I know it’ll annoy the hell out of D, but he won’t mind that much really – not deep down._

_It may be evident, but this is the last page of this log. I don’t know what will happen tomorrow or what will happen the day after, but I know that I don’t need to hide behind some book anymore. The last year’s been tough. The infected are far from finished – this fight isn’t over, it will probably never be over. But I’m Castiel Novak. I survived for eight years. For the first time, I admit that maybe I even have a chance of living through to tomorrow._

_As far as I can see, this is enough._

_Day 4199,_

_Signed,_

_Castiel Robert Novak._

**—–**

Cas closed the book slowly, smoothed his hand over the rough cover and sighed, looking down at the feet on his lap and following them all the way up to Dean’s face. He stared into those emerald-green eyes, and a sudden contentedness and acceptance washed over him.

He stretched out his hand and, without taking his eyes off Dean, he dropped the book into the fire. Sparks and embers danced into the air as the sudden impact disrupted them. They shone orange-gold in the night.

“What was that about?” quizzed Dean sleepily.

Cas just smiled. “I don’t need a book to remind me of the past. I just need you, right here and right now.”

Dean smiled and shuffled closer to Cas. “I’m not going anywhere.”

They stayed there for a while under the sparkling night sky, the dying embers of the fire casting warm, rough silhouettes of them against the soft grass. Stars waltzed through the sky, casting blue-green shadows into Dean’s eyes, flickering and blinking like fire. And it wasn’t perfect, nothing ever was; especially not now that the world was as fucked as it was. But it was hope - safety and warmth and too many emotions to register – and most of all, home.

**0o0o0**

_Nothing new from Outpost 4, but sovereign silence cold,_   
_Water glistening on empty shores like little specks of gold_   
_And in the woods among the trees three men play hide and seek,_   
_Their careless laughter in the breeze, three tales their voices speak:_

_The first one born as one of three, hailed heroes of old lands,_   
_A healer, runner, wild and free, light feet and gifted hands,_   
_Ghostly tunes won’t leave his ears like echoes in his head,_   
_The Rising Sun of New Orleans has now begun to set._

_The second one who wanders still, beneath the yellow sky,_   
_Denial in the bleeding clouds, no sight of dotted lines,_   
_A bullet in his brother’s skull, the sounds burnt in his ears,_   
_Embedded in the songs of gulls he’s heard for many years._

_The third one not a man quite yet, half-gone but cheerful still,_   
_Cremated badlands, they beget his body deathly ill_   
_White nightmares of black memories, a demon in his mind,_   
_Depriving his extremeties, his organs intertwined._

_Last of the wild, last crackling leaves, with dust of morning dew,_   
_Fighting the vultures, nightly thieves, voracious hands of blue,_   
_Lone predators of empty eyes, travelling down the serpentine roads,_   
_White liquid dripping down like lies, singing the three brothers’ ode._

_The cities of this brave new world, our monuments of stone,_   
_Grass in their cracked pavement swirls, stand solemn and alone,_   
_They’re gravestones of the human race, all grey and uniform,_   
_Great skeletons of royal grace, shaped by rain and breeze and storm._

_Their wrecked world hangs on a string, behold this godless work!_   
_The ruins of the songs they sing, the vultures croak and smirk._   
_In Shadowlands, the baneful air, infecting all who breathe,_   
_At monsters’ lifeless eyes they stare, can’t see the soul beneath._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for sticking with this. This has honestly been insanely fun and I'd love it if you could leave a little feedback before you let yourself out - as always, though, it's your choice. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I love you :)

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is much loved! :)


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